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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497396">Letters and Love Stories</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherine1753/pseuds/katherine1753'>katherine1753</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crowley and Beelzebub are friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Good Omens Rom Com Event, Hurt/Comfort, Letters To Juliet AU, Lost Love, M/M, Madame Tracy and Aziraphale are friends, Pining, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Swearing, Tags May Change, Vacation, many other Good Omens characters will be featured as well</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:13:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,725</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497396</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherine1753/pseuds/katherine1753</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>While on vacation in Verona with his best friend, hopeful-writer Crowley meets the Secretaries of Juliet: women who answer letters written to Juliet for romantic advice. He finds an old, lost letter and as a believer in true love, he feels drawn to write back. A few days later, Madame Tracy flies to Italy to meet Crowley and find the love of her life, bringing along Aziraphale, who is skeptical of the whole thing. Crowley decides to help Madame Tracy find her long lost love, and maybe along the way prove to Aziraphale that true love is real.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Madame Tracy (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Omens Rom Com Event</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1: Introduction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my fic for the Good Omens Rom Com Event! It's an AU based on Letters to Juliet. I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>When you think of romance, most people think of the classics: the being swept off your feet, the dramatic kiss, the love at first sight. Crowley had never experienced or even seen any of it himself, but he believed in true love and always hoped that one day he would find it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>While many other employees at his job scoffed at his hope, Crowley found that his job actually helped bolster his belief that true love was really out there. He was a researcher, a fact checker, for one of the most prestigious magazines in New York. He had been with the company since his college internship days, and he had had many roles in the company, but still hadn’t quite achieved his dream of becoming a writer. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Along with his many roles, he had been the one to suggest an online version, and helped to set up their website. He wore many hats at this company. In fact, he had once jokingly suggested to his boss that he get actual hats for each of his roles. Mr. Lou Cifer did not find it funny and had him work overtime for a week on menial projects. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Crowley was currently on a coffee run for his wing of the office, and on the phone with a hopeful subject for an interview. Everyone had seen the photo of The Kiss from World War II, but no one had ever heard much about it besides rumors. Crowley had managed to track down the name of one of the sailors in the background of the photo that witnessed the whole thing, and under further investigation he had found that the man doing the kissing had been deployed on the same ship. This was his true joy in his work: the projects requiring research of excruciating details that finally paid off. He loved to delve deep into things, see how they worked, see people’s fantastical memories come true. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>There were ten sailors he had found registered that had that background man’s name. He was on his sixth phone call of the day. Of the prior five, three had been in different states, one had still been overseas, and one had sadly passed away. Most of his coworkers would have given up at this point. Hell, they wouldn’t have even thought to research this in the first place. They’d only focus on the two in The Kiss, if even at all. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He picked up the coffee and a bag of bagels for his deskmates and called his intern to check in quickly before moving down his list. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hey, yeah, no, no luck yet. I’ve got a few more to call though. Tell Michael I’m bringing bagels. Bye.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He typed the next number into his phone, hit dial, and held his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hello, is this Robert? Yes, hi, my name is Anthony Crowley, I’m calling from the New York Stories magazine.” He chuckled a bit as the man on the other side of the line sounded delighted. “I’m working on a story about The Kiss, I was wondering if that was you in the background?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Crowley squeezed his eyes shut behind his dark glasses, barely breathing, until he heard Robert’s excited affirmation. “It was? That’s - that’s wonderful! Can you tell me about it? Was it staged? Was it real?” he asked hopefully, unable to keep the smile off his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
  
  <span>-</span>
  
  <span>-</span>
  
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>The smile stayed on Crowley’s face the whole time he was typing up his findings, while he was waiting for their office printer to print out his reports, and as he carried the files down the long, dark hallway to Mr. Cifer’s office. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’s real!” Crowley announced triumphantly as he was granted entrance into the throne-like office. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Absolutely certain?” his boss asked doubtfully. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Positive.” Crowley had never turned research in without the full facts, and his boss knew this.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Mr. Cifer grimaced, “so many people want to believe in true love, don’t they…” Crowley tried to hide his nervous smile. “Alright, well, I’ll have someone write this up next week.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Though Crowley was disappointed he didn’t get to write the article, he knew he’d still get researcher credit for it, and next week he would be-</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You’re going on a trip to Verona tomorrow, right?” Mr. Cifer asked, flipping through the papers on his desk. “Explain this to me, is this a romantic getaway?” he scoffed. “I thought you and that little devil were just friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’s just a vacation,” Crowley assured him, he knew of the hard feelings between Beelz and Mr. Cifer, he had witnessed their final argument firsthand. “It’s the last chance for Beelz before their restaurant opens…”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Mr. Cifer frowned. “Well. It’s the city of love,” he said condescendingly. “Don’t get caught up in it. I never did like that Bub.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yes sir,” Crowley replied, knowing full well that Beelz had been one of his favorite food critics for years before Beelz had finally had enough and quit. He hesitated a moment. “Mr. Cifer? What if, since I'll have time you know, what if while I’m there, I write?” he asked hopefully. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“But you’re such a good fact checker,” Mr. Cifer answered, rummaging through his desk. “And researcher...and secretary...and form filer...and internet...person…” He seemed to find what he was looking for and glanced back up at Crowley. “Have a good trip.” And Crowley knew he was dismissed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
  
  <span>-</span>
  
  <span>-</span>
  
  <span>-</span>
  
</p><p>
  
  <span>Crowley’s intern caught him as he was leaving the office. He felt bad, he could never remember the poor kid’s name. But Mr. Cifer kept replacing interns every few months and Crowley couldn’t keep track anymore. He wanted to say Eric, but that could have been four interns ago. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Have fun on your trip Mr. Crowley!” he said happily. Crowley wasn’t sure where interns got their energy. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Thanks, don’t let them push you around too much while I’m gone!” he winked even though he knew possibly-Eric couldn’t see through Crowley’s sunglasses.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Make sure your friend lets you get some sightseeing done, not just restaurants.” Normally Crowley would think an intern was talking out of place with a remark like that, but he had been feeling a little anxious and excited about his vacation and had definitely rambled at his intern about it more than once. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’s Beelz’s last trip before their restaurant opens in less than two months, there’s going to be a lot of meetings with suppliers and things. I’ll get some amazing wine out of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’s a once in a lifetime trip, Mr. Crowley. You should make the most of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’ll be fine, I promise. See you in three weeks, ok?” Crowley gave him a cheesy thumbs up as he left the office building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
  
  <span>-</span>
  
  <span>-</span>
  
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Crowley crossed the busy street to a restaurant under construction, a few of the workers giving him an appreciative glance as he approached. Beelz would kill them if they’d seen, but Crowley felt a little flattered. He looked up to see two men carefully removing the covering on a brand new sign to reveal the name: </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hell’s Kitchen…” Crowley mumbled to himself disbelievingly as he walked inside. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He walked past the gleaming new countertops, the still-wrapped tables, and a whole mess of electrical wiring to the back where the state-of-the-art kitchen was mostly completed. It was currently full of noodles. Floor to ceiling, every countertop, every rack, completely covered in various noodles. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You do know Hell’s Kitchen is an actual thing already, right?” Crowley asked in lieu of greeting. “Like. It’s really well known. I can’t believe that’s what you’re going with.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well it’s the perfect name for my restaurant, so whatever. People will just have to get used to it,” a voice replied from behind a wall of pasta. A small hand popped out from the left of a rack of hanging fettuccine, one piece held gently. “Taste.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Crowley obliged, popping the soft noodle into his mouth. “It’s good.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Good?” The voice sounded offended. “It’s fucking amazing, that’s what it is. Infused with parmesan, olive oil, and a bit of truffle, couldn’t you tell?” Beelz E. Bub snapped as they came out from behind the noodles. They were demanding, harsh, loud, brash, and Crowley’s closest friend. They had met as interns at Mr. Cifer’s magazine, both just out of college: Crowley doing research after changing his major six times, Beelz writing food critiques fresh out of culinary school. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It was delicious,” Crowley tried to amend, hiding his smirk by grabbing another noodle. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hey! No wait, try this one. Close your eyes. Open your mouth. Taste,” Beelz commanded. “It’s great, right? Yes? No? Yes? I’m reinventing the noodle. Now try this one over here,” Beelz dragged Crowley across the room without waiting to hear his thoughts on the pasta. “It’s the same, but different, ok? More...you know, right? It’s good, right? Tell me it’s good.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Beelz, you know it’s wonderful.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Damn right it is,” they huffed. “I’m creating a masterpiece. Modestly speaking, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Crowley said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Modest is definitely the first word I’d choose to describe you. Modest, humble, never one to brag, quiet-”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh shut up!” Beelz shoved at him. “These ones over here came out perfect just now, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Beelz.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“-I’ve got some sauce finishing up over here and-”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Beelz.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“-then after you try that there’s this cheese that-”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Beelz!” Crowley snatched the bottle of olive oil out of their hands and held it above his head. It was a mean trick since Beelz was so short, but he’d had to use it many times over the years when his friend got distracted. “We’re leaving soon, are you even packed? Or have you just been here all day?” Crowley knew them well, if he was lucky Beelz would have at least found their suitcase in the mess they called an apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’ll get around to it,” they frowned at Crowley, trying to reach the bottle. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We have to be at the airport in five hours!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Plenty of time then, put that down and hand me that cheese grater, would you?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Crowley sighed and surrendered the olive oil and passed over the cheese grater. “Should I go pack for you, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, would you? Thanks, you’re the best! This trip is going to be so incredible!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Crowley smiled, “I know, I’m so excited!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oi, Dagon!” Beelz turned to yell at their head architect. “Have the guys finish up with that saw, ok? I can’t think with all that noise.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Crowley rolled his eyes as he walked away, Beelz already elbow-deep in some new noodle dough, packing totally forgotten from their minds. Crowley’s spare key to Beelz’s apartment was well used. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>And now it was time for vacation, after braving the disaster of Beelz’s closet. Three weeks in Italy with no work obligations, and plenty of time to write, even if it wasn’t going to be published. He had been looking forward to this for months: the food, the wine, the history. And he couldn’t wait to rent an Italian sports car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   <br/></span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Wherefore Art Thou, Crowley?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Crowley wants to explore Verona. Beelz has them driving around tasting things. Crowley loves wine, of course, but this is starting to get old.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Verona was absolutely beautiful: the orange-roofed little buildings, the towers, the cathedrals older than entire countries that Crowley had been to. He wanted to see everything, from the rivers to the cobblestone streets, the crowds and the markets, the statues and the history, everything in the guidebooks he had read and more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beelz had, unfortunately, forced Crowley to rent a </span>
  <em>
    <span>sensible </span>
  </em>
  <span>car for driving around in. He was letting Beelz take the wheel for now so he could keep his face glued to the window to take in every moment. He’d have to drive from now on though; as much as people complained about Crowley’s speeding, Beelz was a horrible driver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley loved seeing the people, the cars, the smells, the sounds, the sights… it made him want to write, want to explore, want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They arrived at their little flat they’d be renting for their vacation, and of course it was beautiful just like everything else in Verona. As soon as their suitcases were inside, Beelz decided it was time for a nap and then they’d be on the phone with their suppliers and associates to make some more solid plans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the jetlag, Crowley couldn’t sleep, he was too excited. He spent the hours of Beelz’s nap walking the cobbled streets nearby, getting to know his way around their new little home. In just a few hours he had found an amazing fountain he thought Beelz would love, and had a list of places he wanted to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the sun began to set, he headed back to the flat, only getting lost twice. Beelz was out on the little balcony, just finishing up a phone call. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley! Wherefore art thou, Crowley?” Beelz called down dramatically, catching sight of Crowley on the path. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley smirked up at them before launching into Juliet’s speech. “Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or if thou wilt not, but be sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet,” he finished earnestly. He’d been the lead in quite a few Shakespearean productions throughout his school years. He wasn’t entirely fond of Hamlet, but he still kept the little award he got from it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gross,” Beelz grimaced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley laughed and let himself inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love this place! It’s amazing,” Beelz said, tossing their phone onto the couch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, right? I have to show you this beautiful little fountain, it’s just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what’s even more amazing? One of my associates has arranged a private tour for us with each and every one of my potential suppliers! We’ll start with one of the oldest, most beautiful vineyards in the whole region!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as Crowley had wanted to show Beelz his new discoveries, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>like wine quite a bit. And Beelz was so excited about it. “Ok, yeah, great!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
  
  <span>-</span>
  
  <span>-</span>
  
  <span>- </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Touring Italy with Beelz was...something else. They were so knowledgeable about the food, and the location of the food, and the history of the food, but not all that much else. It was nice that they were so excited about it all, but Crowley had been expecting a bit of a different vacation. He expected the restaurants, sure. The cheese and sausage manufacturers, of course. He’d even been hopeful about the vineyards. But after days and days of backrooms and storerooms and kitchens and tasting way too many things to even remember without even getting to see much of the scenery of the vineyards or the fields of cows for the cheese or the rich history of the landscape, Crowley was getting bored. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today they were tasting another parmesan. It was excellent parmesan. So was the last parmesan they tasted. And the ones from yesterday. But the moisture content? The blooms? The types of cloth and wax? Crowley didn’t know and didn’t care. It was cheese. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>cheese. That’s all that mattered, right? Apparently not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been hoping for a wine pairing maybe to dull the hours long conversation about cheese (in Italian, of course, which Crowley was rusty in at best) but alas, it was just water and a cracker to cleanse the palette and to not alter the flavor profiles. Pairings would be later during the trip, once they had nailed down the key essential ingredients. Crowley hoped for a moment that it would be at a vineyard, but then that would be another full day of describing wines in more words that he thought he’d ever even used in all of his writing combined. He loved wine, he really did, but this was excessive and he only got to taste a little sip of it every time and he was bored. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they headed out of the cheesemaker’s storeroom, Beelz answered yet another phone call, making more plans that Crowley wasn’t aware of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok so now we’ll head over to this little vineyard down the way, there’s this one port that we have to try, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beelz…” Crowley sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t get it! This is, like, one of the best vineyards in Verona! It’s amazing! It’s beautiful!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll go, we’ll taste some wine, we can even get tipsy, you like that, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley sighed again. “Yeah, alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the drive there, Crowley finally behind the wheel, he tried to make conversation about something that wasn’t food for once. “I called Mr. Cifer earlier today,” he mentioned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beelz snorted. “Yeah? How was it? How did it go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It didn’t, I didn’t get to talk to him. It’s time for me to actually write,” Crowley said longingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You honestly expected better? You really should quit like I did, he’s the worst. I got fed up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Crowley sighed again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just write anyway. It’s what you love, just do it, no matter what he says. You’re great at it, you know,” Beelz muttered the compliment like it physically pained them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Crowley said soppily, making eyes at Beelz behind his dark glasses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up, watch the road,” Beelz snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They made it to the vineyard, and the drive into it was just as beautiful as promised, but as soon as they got there most of the tour was spent inside looking at barrel after barrel after barrel. They hadn’t even gotten to taste a wine yet. Beelz was loving it, of course, but with so much walking and talking and not even a sip of wine, Crowley was getting incredibly tired of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wines were amazing, they truly were, but even once they finally started tasting, the pace at which they were going would never get someone drunk, let alone tipsy. Crowley couldn’t even follow along with the conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They tasted breads. They tasted olive oils. They tasted sausages and cheeses and tomatoes and tomatoes and tomatoes. And they drove. And drove. And drove. And it hadn’t even been a full week yet but it felt like absolute ages. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A rare day without many plans finally happened and Crowley was buzzing with the opportunity to do something else for once. “We can get tickets to the opera!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we need to make sure we go see the Castelvecchio, and Lake Guarda,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Juliet’s House, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, of course! We just need to stop by one more farm, ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s heart sank a little, but he could endure just one more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was sausage and cheese, and they were all fine, but Crowley was getting antsy. Beelz was on another phone call. They ran up excitedly. “This is incredible, ok, we’ve been invited to this forest only 120 kilometers away where they get the most amazing truffles!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“120 kilometers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s not like miles, Crowley, it’s only-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know how far it is,” Crowley snapped back, unable to hide his emotions any more. “All for a mushroom. You barely even let me drive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>truffles</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not mushrooms. Truffles! You put them on top of pasta, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Crowley let his head fall into his hands on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you’ve been having a good day, come on,” Beelz nudged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been fine,” Crowley said flatly. “I just don’t feel like going to see a mushroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, it’s fine, I get it, just don’t call it a mushroom, ok?” Beelz sighed and led them to the car, relinquishing the keys. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what?” Crowley said. “Why don’t you go see the truffle place, and I’ll just do my thing and sight-see around the town.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Beelz said hopefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’ll be alright?” Crowley asked. <br/></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! This is great! Win-win!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley let himself out at the flat and Beelz happily took off in the car towards the truffle forest. He now had the afternoon to himself. His heart was feeling lighter as he picked up his notebook and one of his favorite pens and headed out into the town. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Secretaries of Juliet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Crowley wanders Verona and meets the Secretaries of Juliet</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley wandered happily through the cobbled streets of Verona, taking it all in. He was finally able to see some of the things he wanted to see. He didn’t want to do any of the major tourist draws without Beelz, but he was more than content to wander the markets and shops, seeing the people and the history. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After strolling a while he came across a courtyard with a small sign carved into the stone wall. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Casa di Giulietta.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Juliet’s house! He entered the courtyard and was surprised by the crowd. There were many women, both Italians and tourists, and a handful of men. Some were crying, some were laughing, some were smiling, some looked furious, many had notebooks or pieces of paper. A woman was on the balcony, recreating the famous Shakespearean scene. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a closer look at some of the people with notebooks, maybe they were writers? Reporters? But it was nearly everyone. All the benches were full, there were people even sitting on the ground writing. Then he turned and saw the wall full of papers. The writers were pinning their letters to the cobbled bricks, pressing them into the seams, taping them to the smoother stones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sobbing girl made eye contact with Crowley through his sunglasses as she finished attaching her paper to the wall and started to walk out. She wept at him beseechingly as she stumbled across the bricks, and though he wasn’t sure what language she was speaking he could understand that pain, that universal heartbreak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the courtyard slowly began to empty out as the sun began to set, Crowley was able to take up residence on one of the old stone benches. He began to write, just his observations and thoughts about what he had seen. He wanted to do more research about it, wanted to know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>so many people were here and sticking papers to the walls. Maybe it was a festival, or maybe it was like the bridges covered in locks. Either way, he wanted to find out, especially what was causing such deep emotions for some of the courtyard-goers. He did not touch or open any of the folded papers, he had a feeling that they were something deeply personal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the crowd dwindled further he saw a woman with a basket approach the wall. He watched as she began to carefully take down the papers, setting them in her basket. Crowley closed his notebook and recapped his pen. The woman finished collecting the papers and headed back out of the courtyard. His curiosity insatiable, Crowley followed her. It reminded him of some of his more sketchy research attempts. The woman walked up to a restaurant where a few other women were apparently waiting for her at a little table outside. They walked into the restaurant and out the back of it into another courtyard, this one tiny in comparison, and into a little doorway in the back that looked like an office or an apartment across the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to go into anyone’s house, but no one stopped him as he walked through the mostly empty restaurant and out the back door. He looked into the doorway the women with the basket had disappeared into and saw that it was a flight of stairs. He decided he would go up the stairs, but he wouldn’t open any shut doors, just in case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the top of the stairs was an office. A large table dominated the middle of the room, but the walls were covered in shelves filled with papers and books, and the women he had seen were seated around the table, dividing up the papers from the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley knocked lightly on the side of the open door. “Um. Excuse me?” he felt completely out of place and awkward interrupting them, but he had to know what was going on. The women at the table looked up at him. “Hi, sorry, um, do you speak English?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course,” said the woman who originally had the basket. “Welcome, take this basket and dig in!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...dig in?” Crowley’s confusion kept increasing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re from the LGBT group, right?” the woman looked at him hopefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, I-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve been waiting for weeks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, sorry, I…My name is Crowley, I’m sorry, I followed you? And I saw that you put the letters into a basket and I just...well I just wanted to know why…” it sounded lame as the words came out of his mouth, but he couldn’t speak anything other than the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re a writer,” the woman smiled at him, nodding at his notebook clutched nervously in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, well yes, well...hopefully someday…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come, I’ll show you,” the woman motioned toward the window. Crowley followed and saw that it overlooked the first courtyard, where a few more letter-writers were finishing up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They come from all over the world every day,” the woman explained. “They write letters to Juliet, asking for romantic advice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But why take the letters? Isn’t that like...taking pennies from a wishing well or...or bread crumbs from ducks?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, how else would we give them answers?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh hells, you write back? You write all of them back?” Crowley was impressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So...you’re all Juliet?” Crowley looked at the women around the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re her secretaries,” a middle-aged woman answered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s Deirdre, she’s been married to her childhood sweetheart since she was eighteen, she answers the letters about husband problems,” the first woman pointed at a blonde lady sitting at the head of the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Men are like fine wine, they take a long time to mature,” Deirdre laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s Pepper,” she pointed at the youngest girl at the table. “She deals with the ones who just need some common sense knocked into them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pepper waved briefly, eagerly grabbing at another stack of letters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s Sister Mary, she was a nun, she handles the letters about illness and loss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anathema answers the ones you can barely read,” Deirdre said, a sad look on her face. “The break-ups and the tangled hearts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone has to do it,” Anathema sighed. “They’re often so tear-stained it takes me ages to read them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley smiled sympathetically. </span>
</p><p><span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span></p><p>
  <span>The secretaries let him stay the rest of the afternoon and though most of it he spent listening to their stories and helping attach stamps to envelopes, he did get to help with a little bit of the advice too. He knew that when he got back to the flat that night he would have lots to write about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Anathema’s great-grandmother Agnes, the owner of the restaurant downstairs, called them down to dinner. Crowley was flattered to see there was an extra place set at the table for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, I really have to go, but thank you,” he said reluctantly. It was much later than he had thought it was, and he hadn’t told Beelz where he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the problem with tourists, they’re always rushing,” Agnes sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just... my friend is waiting for me, they’re opening a restaurant back home, and I forgot to tell them I’d be late, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Agnes sounded delighted. “A chef! At least let me send some cannoli home with you, and tell them I say congratulations on the restaurant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, thank you again. All of you,” Crowley nodded at the group, already feeling sad to be leaving. He hoped he would have time to see them again before his and Beelz’s trip was over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made it back to their flat, bag of cannoli in hand, where Beelz had apparently just gotten back recently since they were just opening up a bottle of wine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“120 kilometers away to my forest and I still beat you back?” Beelz teased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Crowley set the bag down and reached for a glass to hand over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So how was your day without me?” Beelz asked. “Empty? Completely boring? A serious lack of truffles?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I met the Secretaries of Juliet,” Crowley couldn’t keep the smile from his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like...Capulet? Like Shakespeare?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Beelz, there are these women who call themselves her secretaries and they write these letters to people who leave notes on Juliet’s wall. They work for the city, all these people come, not just tourists, but from all over the world, and they come here, and they write letters, for advice, for love and for broken hearts and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beelz sniffed the air, distracted by the smell of something. They turned towards the bag Crowley had brought in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-and they come from all over and they-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley, one, that’s the most I’ve heard you talk since we got here and I’m very happy for you, but two, what’s in that bag?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Oh, um, dessert from Anathema’s great-grandmother. So anyway, they post these letters on the wall in Juliet’s courtyard and the secretaries come with this basket and they collect all the letters every day, and then-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beelz opened the bag and pulled out a cannoli, inspecting it and sniffing it delightedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-and then they write back, as Juliet, to all of the letters that have return addresses, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beelz bit into the cannoli and their eyes lit up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is their job, it’s so unbelievable, I can’t even imagine doing something so cool, and they’ll literally work all night if they have to to make sure everyone gets an answer and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohhhhh hells,” Beelz moaned into the cannoli. “Crowley, this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>incredible</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know, right? And-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right, yeah, your thing too, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>this,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” they held up the half-eaten cannoli like it was made of gold. Crowley knew he had lost Beelz’s attention, but he always loved seeing his friend so happy. “Try this? Ok, try it, it’s amazing, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley took his bite, and it really was amazing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to take me with you tomorrow, ok? I have to see how they make this. Promise me you’ll take me? Ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nodded, he’d been hoping to go back anyway. They’d have enough time in the morning to stop by before they headed to Lake Garda. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading!<br/>Aziraphale appears in the next chapter :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Most Amazing Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Crowley finds a letter from 50 years ago and feels a draw to write back</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>With the trunk of their sadly boring car packed with supplies and snacks for their trip to Lake Garda, Crowley and Beelz stopped by to see the Secretaries of Juliet and Agnes for lunch. Beelz was immediately swept into the kitchen while Anathema and a few of the other ladies sat with Crowley in the restaurant watching them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your friend is very spirited, aren’t they?” Anathema smiled at Crowley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah Beelz has always been pretty intense about stuff. Ever since we got here I think they might be convinced that they’re Italian. Imitation may be the greatest form of flattery, but their imitations aren’t very good,” Crowley laughed as Beelz started gesturing grandly in the kitchen before rushing back out to Crowley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agnes is amazing, she’s incredible, I think I’m in love,” Beelz rambled excitedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? You’re in love with her?” Crowley teased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, or at least in love with her cooking. Ok. Say no, and I won’t do it, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do it, but I won’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok what?” Crowley asked, heart sinking slightly as he guessed where this was going. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agnes has offered to teach me some secrets today,” Beelz gushed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok...right now or all day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right now, right </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s amazing, she’s making this risotto alright? Yeah? Her recipe’s been in her family for like three hundred years, it’s fantastic, and she offered to share it with me, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It really is amazing risotto…” Anathema murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, that’s great,” Crowley sighed. “But...so no to Lake Garda then today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh right, the lake, well…I mean, Lake Garda’s been there for like hundreds of thousands of years, you know, and Agnes is offering to help me right </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I’m here and we’re here and we’re having a good time, yeah?” Beelz was at least aware enough to look a little ashamed at disappointing Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want to learn, you have to watch!” Agnes called from the kitchen, elbows deep in a bowl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What should I do? My hands are tied,” Beelz said, already taking a step towards the kitchen. “I mean, I don’t know, I don’t know…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could help us again, if you like,” Anathema offered gently, reading the situation well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah!” Beelz said happily. “The letter thing, right! You write and I’ll cook and later we’ll eat, it’s a win-win!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley couldn’t help the small smile on his face seeing Beelz so excitedly rushing to learn an ancient traditional recipe, even though he was upset his plans got messed up again. </span>
</p><p><span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span></p><p>
  <span>Since it was earlier in the day than when he first met the Secretaries, only Pepper and Sister Mary were there already. They finished up some of the previous day’s letters while Crowley accompanied Anathema to a post box a few roads over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long have you two known each other?” she asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh years now, we met back in college.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you let them decide everything?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d have to admit he admired Anathema, getting straight to the point, no matter how bluntly. “They’ve...well, they’ve been so busy lately, with their restaurant and everything. I just didn’t think it was necessary to argue about it, it’s fine…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” was all Anathema said as she finished placing the neatly stacked envelopes into the slot. </span>
</p><p><span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span></p><p>
  <span>He helped Anathema gather the day’s letters as the bells chimed in the square. He pulled one that was a little more securely taped to the wall and the small cobbled brick fell onto the ground. Crowley quickly bent to pick it up and put it back into the wall, but he noticed something stuck deep into the little hole in the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching in carefully, he pulled out an old envelope. Unfolding it, he saw that it was addressed to “Juliet, Verona” from a Tracy in London, England. The paper felt so old in his hands, almost crumbly, but he could tell it would have been a very nice piece of stationery back in the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anathema, I…” he stood up, holding out the letter. “I think you guys might have missed one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at it carefully. “This is at least fifty years old!” Anathema smiled. “Let’s go read it to the girls!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They quickly finished gathering the letters and rushed back to the office where the women sat around the table, waiting for Crowley to read the letter to them all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t go to him, Juliet. I didn’t go back to my Sergeant. His eyes were so full of trust when I promised I’d meet him to run away together, and I didn’t go to him. My friends didn’t understand and my parents would have never approved, so we were going to run away together and I left him waiting for me below our tree, waiting and wondering where I was. I’m in Verona now and I return to London in the morning, and I’m so afraid. Should I have stayed, should I return to him, should I go back home and forget the love of my life? Please, Juliet, tell me what I should do. My heart is breaking and I have no one else to turn to. All my love, Tracy.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been there for all these years,” Crowley said disbelievingly. This was incredible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I think she came back to find her one true love,” Sister Mary said. “They probably had kids and still make passionate love every night,” she sighed wistfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Except he got bald and lazy and she has to do all the work,” Pepper argued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well maybe she stayed in London and married a duke and lived happily ever after just like me,” Deirdre suggested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, but Arthur isn’t a duke!” Anathema laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, nobody’s perfect!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I bet when she makes love to her duke, she still imagines her first love, the Sergeant,” Sister Mary sighed again. For a nun, she was definitely not what Crowley imagined. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anathema, I have to write back,” he pleaded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She considered him for a moment, then handed him a piece of their special stationery. “Then answer her,” she smiled. </span>
</p><p><span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>- </span></p><p>
  <span>Crowley spent the entire evening writing and rewriting, this had to be perfect. One by one, the other secretaries finished their stacks and went home, bidding their goodnights. When it was just down to him and Anathema, she showed him how to lock the door behind him when he was done, and said goodbye for the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know that kind of love personally, but he knew it was real, and hoped he’d find it someday. He finished his letter, finally satisfied with it, and put it in the envelope. He carefully re-folded her original letter and slid it into the envelope as well, sealed it, stamped it, and placed it on the top of the stack going into the mail tomorrow. He pressed the old envelope into his own notebook, locked the office, and walked back to the flat. </span>
</p><p><span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span></p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I’m late,” Crowley said as he entered the flat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, it’s fine, no worries,” Beelz replied. “How was your day? Good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So good,” Crowley said happily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? Good, I’m glad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was Agnes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was so good, she’s amazing, that woman is incredible, you know, she’s very instinctive. Half the things she cooks are without recipes, or just ones she remembers in her head, she’s incredible. She’s invited me to cook with her again whenever I want while we’re here!” Beelz said excitedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! Yeah I think I can really learn a lot from her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s great...um…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Beelz looked worried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, nothing, it’s just...I had the most amazing day. I got to answer a letter that was written fifty years ago. I know it might not get there, but it just feels so good to write and do something meaningful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah I think you should spend more time with them,” Beelz said decisively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Crowley asked a little suspiciously, if he was busy it would be easier for Beelz to cancel their plans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it’s your passion, right? Also it fits perfectly, my associate has invited me to this amazing wine auction that’s happening in Livorno-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Livorno?” Crowley asked. They hadn’t been planning on going to Livorno at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, it’s super exclusive, I don’t know, I mean, I’m not sure if I can even get a ticket, you know. I’ll only be gone a day or three max. If you want, I can try to get two tickets, but I’m not sure if I can get two tickets, I’m not sure if I can even get one ticket, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To a wine auction? In Livorno? Where I can’t even taste them? Yeah, no thanks,” Crowley sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it sounds terrible, I know, I’m sorry, I feel terrible now, I mean...I miss you already,” Beelz said. Crowley sighed again, knowing there was no winning this. Maybe Anathema had been right with her silent judgement. </span>
</p><p><span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span></p><p>
  <span>Beelz had packed up about a week’s worth of clothes and things haphazardly into the little car and Crowley helped them carry it out to say goodbye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be back soon and we can go do more touristy things, ok? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, ok, be careful, alright?” Crowley waved at them as Beelz rolled up the window and headed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now he was alone. He helped Anathema and the Secretaries again through the day, but at night as he leaned out on his little balcony with the beautiful view of the street and lanterns and cobblestones, he felt so, so lonely. </span>
</p><p><span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span></p><p>
  <span>A few days later, Crowley had settled into his routine of basically being an unofficial Secretary of Juliet in the afternoons with his mornings spent wandering around Verona. One afternoon as he and Anathema were collecting letters, he saw an older eccentric looking woman and the most beautiful man he had ever seen enter the courtyard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His letter-gathering task forgotten, the piece of paper in his hand feeling limp, Crowley's eyes followed them around the courtyard behind his dark glasses. He tried not to gape. The beautiful man took the lady’s picture a few places around the courtyard, by the letter wall, on the bench, by the statue of Juliet in the corner. The man blushed prettily as the woman touched the worn golden breast on the statue just like many of the tourists did. Crowley was told it was good luck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The beautiful man looked incredibly flustered when the lady tried to get him to touch it too. Crowley fell in love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair left the courtyard, and Anathema accidentally bumped into an immobile Crowley with the basket, startling him out of his daze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh sorry, are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah I’m good…” Crowley trailed off, heart aching for the man he didn’t even have a conversation with. He’d never felt like this before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He distractedly helped the Secretaries, but when he returned to his flat he couldn’t sleep. He walked and walked, finally ending up in the familiar courtyard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting on a bench, his notebook in hand, he began to write a letter. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Juliet, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’d always heard about love at first sight, and while I had some doubts, I still wanted to believe. Everyone in my life thinks I’m too much of a romantic at heart and that things like true love don’t exist. But today, Juliet, it happened. I experienced it. Love at first sight. It’s real. I don’t even know his name, but he’s so beautiful, Juliet. It’s almost like he isn’t real. He’s like an angel. I know I probably won’t ever see him again, but my heart aches without him and I don’t know what to do. Please help me, Juliet. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t sign the letter, but he did add his home address. He knew there was a good chance of Pepper making fun of the letter when they went through the stack tomorrow, and he didn’t want them to know he had written it. He could always just throw it out when he got back home if he got over his crush, but Crowley didn’t think these feelings would ever go away. He stuck the letter into a crack in the wall and walked back to the flat. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. She's Come To Find Her Sergeant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The man Crowley has fallen in love with overnight shows up at the Secretaries' office the next day.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm so sorry for the lack of updates recently, I had a major personal tragedy at the beginning of the month but hopefully now things will be back on track. Thank you for your patience, comments, and kudos! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next day saw Crowley in his new usual routine with the Secretaries, reading and laughing and helping each other around the table. Beelz was still on some culinary adventure, and Crowley was happy that they were having a good time and that he himself had some new good friends to spend time with even if he was still incredibly lonely in the evenings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh listen to this one,” Pepper announced. “‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Juliet, is there anything in this world worse than a man?’”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” replied Sister Mary. “Two men!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley laughed along with the women halfheartedly, but his thoughts were still on the mystery man from last night. He sighed wistfully to himself, and he knew his new friends were aware he was distracted, but they didn’t push him. He noticed them sharing knowing looks though. He was also nervously waiting for them to get to his letter, which he thought he saw at the very bottom of the basket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A knock on the door distracted him from staring into the courtyard longingly. Everyone looked up. Crowley’s jaw dropped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me,” said the man from the courtyard and Crowley’s dreams, still looking like an angel in the old office lighting, a wonderfully posh accent drifting from his lips, tailored cream-colored suit hugging him perfectly. A tiny whine escaped Crowley’s mouth before he could stop it and he thanked God and Hell and whoever was listening that it was nearly silent. Only Anathema seemed to hear, and the corner of her lips twitched up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we help you?” she asked politely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, yes, erm, so dreadfully sorry to interrupt, but are you the Secretaries of Juliet?” The man shifted onto his other foot, hands twisting nervously in front of him. Crowley thought it was the most charming thing he’d ever seen in his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s us,” Anathema smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, wonderful,” the man beamed. And Crowley knew he had been right, surely, </span>
  <em>
    <span>surely </span>
  </em>
  <span>this man was an angel, his smile lit up the entire room, it could power the whole world, it could keep Crowley’s fantasies alive for </span>
  <em>
    <span>years. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“May I ask which one of you wrote this letter to my friend Madame Tracy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he could get any more shocked, Crowley was sure it would kill him. “I did,” he answered, voice cracking. “I wrote it, I can’t believe it got to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man smiled bashfully and Crowley felt his heart skip a beat. “Yes, well, we tend to stay in our family homes in England.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley couldn’t keep the grin off of his face. “It hasn’t even been a week since I wrote it and, what, you came straight here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It really was a very thoughtful letter, my dear,” the man smiled again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ngk,” was all Crowley managed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least I thought so. My brother, well...nevermind him. Tracy raised us, you see, so we’re very protective of her, and...well, what I mean to say, that is…” He seemed to struggle with his words, schooling his face into something more strict and subdued. Crowley hated to see that smile go away. “We want to know what you were thinking, answering this letter now, when it’s clearly decades old.” He nodded once to himself, as if acknowledging that his rehearsed-sounding demand came out correctly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We?” Crowley asked, frowning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me, I mean,” the man snapped. “Well, my brother and I, but he’s not...oh dear…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right…” Crowley was confused. Clearly the angel was struggling with something he wasn’t ready to talk about yet. “Well, I was thinking that she deserved an answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man hesitated, looking for a moment as if he agreed. “Yes. Yes-no! No, I mean, fifty years ago, perhaps. But not now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley paused. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that true love had an expiration date,” he argued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True love?” the beautiful-now-upset man laughed nervously. “Surely you must be joking. My dear, could you imagine what would have happened if she had seen sense? This whole thing could have been blown way out of proportion.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, then maybe she wouldn't have sent you," Pepper butted in. "That'd be a plus."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love isn’t always sensible,” Crowley answered. “But doesn’t it always deserve a chance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man looked more conflicted than Crowley had ever seen anyone in his life, and he had seen Beelz have multiple crises. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you know about it? You don't know anything about Tracy and you're just...just interfering with her life like this. I suppose you’re just some lonely man bothering people and trying to live vicariously through them.” His words kept changing halfway through, as if he was arguing with himself or trying to convince himself that this was all a bad idea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was baffled. Apparently he’d hit a sore spot and he had no idea what was happening. And yet, as annoying as it was, none of this made him want the man any less. “I’m not lonely, I came to Verona with my friend,” he had no idea why he felt he had to explain himself, but he sure as hell wasn't going to admit his loneliness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well, my condolences to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, say that again after you’ve met them,” Crowley retorted. “Look, I don’t know what the problem is? I just answered a letter, I thought she deserved an answer after all this time. Why she sent you here to argue with us, I have no idea, but I can’t un-write it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man sighed miserably. “Yes. Right. I...I can’t do this right now. My apologies, ladies,” he nodded to the women around the table, who looked as confused as Crowley felt, and turned and left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley followed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So that’s it, then?” he called after him. “You came all the way from London to give me a lecture about a simple letter? And you can’t even tell me why?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he snapped, stopping in the middle of the street. “I came here because I couldn’t let Tracy come on her own and Gabriel was busy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s jaw dropped again. He was beginning to feel like a snake with all this jaw nonsense, it was sure to dislocate if this kept up. “Tracy is here? Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you think? I’m sure you’re clever enough to work that one out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh hells, she’s come to find her Sergeant. That’s incredible!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Incredible?” the man said incredulously. “And what if he doesn’t want to see her, or what if he has forgotten her, or what if he’s gravely ill, or what if he’s married with kids and grandkids and this ruins his life and hers, or what if he’s died by now, just think of what this would do to Tracy? It would break her heart all over again and it would be all your fault.” The man looked to be on the verge of tears, fingers twisting into his buttons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley hadn't thought of any of that, he'd been so excited to write and reply and give true love a chance. “W-well, I…I didn't...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I thought so,” the man sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to meet her," Crowley announced suddenly. "I’d like to meet Tracy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’d like to read the entire Library of Alexandria," the man said, "but that's not happening."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t think she’d want to meet me?” Crowley knew he was getting somewhere when the man frowned again, at himself this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...no, Gabriel said…” he sighed again. Crowley had a feeling this Gabriel was the main source of the problem. “No, no, I need to get this sorted out. Good day.” He turned and tried to leave again. Crowley continued to follow him, a few paces back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man entered the courtyard where the woman Crowley had seen him with the night before was waiting, alone, looking at the wall of letters. That must be Tracy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tracy, they’re closing up soon, we should go,” the man said to her softly, taking her arm. She smiled at him, it was a wistful sort of thing, and Crowley’s heart reached for her. She looped her arm through his and the two of them walked back toward the entrance where Crowley was waiting. The man sighed in defeat as he and Crowley made eye contact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me, Tracy?” Crowley approached. “Hi, my name is Anthony Crowley, and… well, I wrote you the letter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy looked shocked for a moment, then excited. “The letter? From Juliet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodness! Thank you! But however did you find us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley smugly nodded at the now-flustered blonde man attached to her arm, ignoring the fluttering of  his own heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Aziraphale, you did?” she beamed at him. And Crowley had a name for his angel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, yes, well, the thing is, I thought...well, Gabriel said…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, he’s really, uh, sweet,” Crowley jumped in. “Um. Very charming, thought you might like to meet me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy looked between the two of them knowingly. “How uncharacteristically forward of you, dearest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, under the circumstances, it seemed ridiculous not to meet the man responsible for this...what did Gabriel call it yesterday, this voyage of lunacy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gabriel’s a twat,” Tracy replied with a laugh and Aziraphale balked at her. Crowley adored her already. “Gabriel doesn’t approve,” she said conspiratorially to Crowley. “So he’s sent Aziraphale along to remind me, which makes this all the more fun.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley laughed along with her. Aziraphale’s hands fretted at his waistcoat again. Crowley wanted to hold them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were just going for a glass of wine, would you like to join us?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale answered for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Why?” Tracy looked at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s...it’s been a long day, too long a day, too many things going on, we should get back to the hotel and rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, darling, have a good sleep. Don’t wait up for me.” Tracy smiled at him, patting his arm as she let go and stepped closer to Crowley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know of a good restaurant we could go to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I actually have the perfect place,” Crowley smiled. “I can’t believe you’re really here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can hardly believe it myself!” Tracy beamed at him, taking his arm instead as he led her to Agnes’s restaurant, Aziraphale following along unhappily. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A Story Worth Telling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tracy tells her stories to the Secretaries, Crowley falls even more for Aziraphale</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just wanted to say how wonderful the Good Omens fandom is. Every single comment I’ve gotten has been so wonderful and supportive, and I just wanted to say thank you. Y’all are amazing! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Everyone sat around an outdoor table laden with candles and dish after dish of amazing food that Agnes kept bringing out for them. The Secretaries were so excited to hear Tracy’s stories about her time in Italy and with the Sergeant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was taking a Mythology course in Tuscany, studying abroad for the semester and staying with a family just outside Sienna whose son was attending the same college. It was love at first sight for me. He was studying Religion and Medieval History. He always pretended to dislike my major but I knew he liked me and I just thought it was funny,” she sighed dreamily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley smiled at her, loving this. He loved hearing people’s love stories and backgrounds. He glanced over at Aziraphale who looked mildly embarrassed. The rest of the Secretaries were loving it though, asking all sorts of questions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you know it was love?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he walked me to school every day. He always carried my books. Every time he was around me he would blush and stumble over his words. I knew he was just as smitten as I was,” Tracy laughed. “He had the most gentle eyes, even when he was getting into one of his really elaborate speeches. And he told me I was very beautiful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You still are!” Deirdre clinked her wineglass against Tracy’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale again, meeting his eyes this time. Aziraphale held his gaze for a moment, smile twitching a little. Crowley could see the private conflict in his eyes still, but knew the ladies were winning him over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-and he gave me this ring,” Tracy’s announcement pulled both of their attentions back to her.  She unclasped a necklace she had on, holding out a small but still very beautiful ring dangling from it. Crowley could tell from the look in her eyes and the reverence in how she held it that she must still wear it every day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We wanted to get married,” she said as she handed the ring to Crowley to pass around to the Secretaries. “But I had exams back in England, and my parents would never have agreed, and I got scared, and...and I ran away,” she sighed, looking regretful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale patted her hand and she smiled back at him. “Now...what I really want to tell him is that I’m so sorry I was such a coward.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t a coward!” Aziraphale interjected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I should have given him an explanation at least,” Tracy sighed again. “You don’t have to jump to defend my honor, dear, it’s been fifty years now, I can handle myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale blushed sheepishly, and in the candlelight and Italian dusk Crowley swore he had never seen anything so beautiful before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I suppose a card or a letter would have been just too simple,” Aziraphale mumbled and the ladies all laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’ve come to find your Sergeant,” Crowley said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, and,” Tracy grinned, “I think I know where he is!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where?” Anathema asked excitedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In one of the villages by our old campus. He never wanted to leave, it was his dream to teach there someday. Aziraphale and I are going to drive down there tomorrow. I think I might rent us a vespa!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked nervous at the mention of it. “Only because I can’t drive and I don’t want you to hitchhike!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley rolled his eyes behind his dark lenses. Vespas were cool, ok, but Italian sports cars were so much more exciting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gabriel thinks it’s a big mistake and has done a pretty decent job of convincing Aziraphale of it too,” Tracy said conspiratorially. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe because he doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body,” Anathema teased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s because I’m a realist!” Aziraphale looked flustered. Crowley thought it was too cute. He might have to try for that reaction again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or maybe it’s because you’re an Englishman, it’s not like they’re known for romance,” Pepper argued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, and who was it that wrote Romeo and Juliet? A lot of people consider that the most romantic play,” Crowley tried to help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Williamo Shakespearelli, a great Italian!” Anathema laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, actually,” Aziraphale blushed as he spoke up, but the excited look on his face was something Crowley wanted to see every day for the rest of his life. “While a lot of people do think so, it’s not his best example of romance. It’s a tragedy, really, and some of his best romances are in the comedies if you know where to look. Plus, there are plenty of other great romances to be found in British Literature. I can send you some recommendations!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale runs a lovely bookshop back home,” Tracy said proudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Crowley fell even more in love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tolling bell in the distance brought to attention how late it had gotten. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As much as I hate to go, we really should be getting back,” Tracy sighed. “Crowley, my dear, goodnight, and thank you so much. Thank all of you. Goodnight everyone!” She stood up, crossing her fingers as she waved goodnight to a chorus of well wishes and calls for good luck. Aziraphale bid goodnight as well and the two turned to leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they walked away down the cobblestones, Crowley felt a piece of his heart go with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How wonderful would it be if she found him?” he sighed to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Imagine if she did, fifty years later, all because you found that letter,” Anathema smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody would believe it if it weren’t true, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he said it, he realized how true that was. And the more he thought, the more he realized he couldn’t live never knowing how this turned out. It would be his greatest unsolved mystery, a regret that would plague him forever, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to know how this turned out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jumped up from the table and jogged after them; thankfully they hadn’t made it too far. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait! Wait, sorry-” he caught up with them and hesitated for a moment, then took the plunge. “May I come with you? To find him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come with us? What about your...your </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span> who’s coming back soon, you’re in the city of love and you want to come with us?” Aziraphale looked confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley sensed something in his tone but he couldn’t figure it out, it was late and he was excited and nervous and needed to know things. “Yes. Exactly. The city of love, I’ve always believed in true love, and I need to see it for real. Beelz is busy and I'm free and I mean…sorry, I mean, of course not if it’s an intrusion,” he backpedaled, realizing it was probably very rude of him to invite himself along on such a personal adventure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s not an intrusion!” Tracy insisted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not an intrusion?” Aziraphale asked.</span>
</p><p><span>“I just...I do have one thing to tell you first,” Crowley admitted. “This wouldn’t be entirely selfless, it just started as a simple reply to your letter-”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“It wasn’t simple, dear, it was so wonderful,” </span></p><p>
  <span>“-and now I think it’s so amazing what you’re doing, that you’ve traveled all this way and come so far all for love and, well, I’d love to write about it if that’s alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy beamed at him but Aziraphale looked almost scandalized. “Are you a journalist? Tracy’s been through enough, you don’t need to have the world prying into her private life, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come now, Aziraphale, it’s hardly state secrets,” Tracy interrupted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m not a journalist. I think I might like to be someday, or a novelist. I just want to write.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you think her story is your ticket to a journalism career?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I think it’s a story worth telling. I think it would make a great book,” Crowley admitted. Aziraphale perked up a little at the mention of a book. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d love to have you with us,” Tracy smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes of course!” She looked at Aziraphale pleadingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sighed. “Yes. We would. Please come with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess this means we can’t rent a vespa anymore,” Tracy laughed. “You get out of it this time, Aziraphale. Can you drive, Crowley?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a great driver,” Crowley replied, unable to keep the probably feral looking grin from his face. Fast cars, long country roads, a beautiful man in the passenger seat, and the true-love story of a lifetime. It was everything. He couldn’t wait. And if Aziraphale looked a little nervous at the ferocity of his driving excitement, he’d just ignore that for now. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The First Witchfinder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Crowley, Tracy, and Aziraphale hit the road in hopes of finding Tracy's long lost love.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale had managed to talk Crowley into a somewhat more sensible car. Crowley wasn’t at all sure how it happened, probably something with his pleading blue eyes, but somehow he found himself behind the wheel of a sporty little sedan, not at all the sports car of his dreams, but it still handled great on the curvy roads of the Italian countryside. He sped through the turns, delighting in Tracy’s excited giggles in the passenger’s seat and Aziraphale’s occasional grabs at the door handle with an adorable pout on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before they headed out on the adventure, Crowley had texted Beelz their plans, trying to keep them updated on his situation and whereabouts. Beelz hadn’t said much in response to that, but talked a lot about the foods they were trying and the exclusive auctions they were winning. Crowley had sighed as he put away his phone, whatever, it was fine, he would enjoy his time in Italy even if a lot of it was spent apart from his best friend. Tracy had given him a curious look when she saw the downward turned corner of his mouth, but she hadn’t brought it up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind the wheel of a car (even a car not as exciting as he wanted), Crowley felt free. He was in complete control and at ease speeding past innumerable vineyards and farmlands. They did stop every so often for Tracy and Aziraphale to take pictures, and after a few hours of driving Aziraphale had mentioned that he packed a picnic for everyone for lunch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pulled over on the side of a little country road in what looked like a perfect picnic spot; there was a massive shady tree, a flat area great for a blanket, and a few small boulders just the right size to sit on. Aziraphale unpacked a large wicker picnic basket, which, to Crowley’s amusement, seemed to be halfway filled with various little pastries and desserts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Crowley began, “how much time did you actually get to spend with your Sergeant when you were here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every second that we could,” Tracy smiled. “I’d go to meet him after class, outside the history building, and we’d go and sit under the trees and we’d share lunches and talk or just watch the clouds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s so romantic,” Crowley smiled at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It really is,” Aziraphale sighed dreamily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Crowley couldn’t help but tease. “Really? You finally agree?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It...it’s the food, perhaps. I’ve always loved picnics. And just because it’s romantic doesn’t mean it’s true love. Plenty of things are romantic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, dear,” Tracy patted his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was he in the army? He seems so young to be a sergeant…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Tracy blushed. “Well, actually, he’d just become a sergeant. But for a different kind of army…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Crowley asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Witchfinder Army.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The what??” Crowley asked, baffled. Aziraphale looked equally confused. Apparently Tracy hadn’t mentioned that before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh it was just a silly thing, he and his friends got caught up with some locals who still believed in witches, they had a sort of club they called a Witchfinder Army and said they’d go and hunt witches, it was surely nonsense but he was so very into it. He was in a few little history and conspiracy clubs throughout school but that was his favorite,” Tracy smiled, reminiscing.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley balked. He didn’t know what to make of this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...historically, witches have always been very important,” it seemed Aziraphale tried to reason with himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley turned to him. “Oh, so you don’t believe in true love but witchcraft is ok?” Aziraphale looked away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He loved the study, the craft, the chase,” Tracy continued without paying them any attention. “He was convinced I was a witch because of my Major and interests and the way I dressed but he couldn’t help but fall in love with me either and it frustrated him and it was adorable. He said that I seduced him with my witchcraft. It was the funniest thing! But it wasn’t just his humor that I loved, he also loved talking to me about the rain and the springs of fresh water and we’d walk for miles and miles and we’d lie in the soft grass. I can still remember the smell of his sweet, hot, sweat and the feel of his-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok!” Aziraphale interrupted. “Ok, alright, that’s enough of that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked up at him. Aziraphale was bright red. Maybe that had something to do with his reluctance about this entire thing too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you must feel like you’re about to find and reconnect with your long lost soulmate,” Crowley grinned at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soulmates,” Aziraphale said doubtfully. “That’s...that’s ridiculous.” He sounded resolute and firm but the conflict in his eyes gave him away a little. Crowley was starting to feel like he was trying to solve two mysteries here: Tracy’s true love and whatever was going on with Aziraphale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood up and walked away, platinum blonde hair glowing like a halo in the sunlight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley fought to bring his gaze back to Tracy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a skeptic but he has a good heart deep down,” she sighed. “His brother...well, Gabriel always insists that love is nothing but hormones. Aziraphale will agree with him but underneath he has such a warm, passionate heart. He keeps it hidden well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was a little skeptical, eyes back on Aziraphale’s wandering form, but his heart hoped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy caught his eye and Crowley could feel his cheeks heating up a little. He was infinitely grateful for his dark sunglasses. “Tell me more about your friend, the one you’re traveling with. Are you together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh hells, Beelz?” Crowley laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh gosh no,” Crowley stood up off of his sunny rock and sat closer to Tracy on the blanket. “We’ve been friends for years and years, we went to school together too, but it was never like that. Beelz is a chef, they’re an amazing chef.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh wow!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and they’re opening their own restaurant back home in New York. And that’s why we’re here, actually, we’re...well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>they </span>
  </em>
  <span>are meeting with suppliers all around. I was going along before I met the Secretaries. And Beelz is actually in Livorno right now at this wine auction that’s supposed to be really exclusive,” he trailed off. Crowley was trying to sound excited, he really was, but he knew it came out a little unsuccessful. As proud as he was of Beelz and as happy as he was for them living their dream and having the time of their life, he was still sad that their friendship trip of a lifetime was being spent mostly apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds fun,” Tracy said politely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. For Beelz, yeah. I was really into it at first, but it’s been a little overwhelming,” Crowley admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what do your parents think of your exciting travels? And of your soon-to-be famous chef best friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley hesitated. He hadn’t talked about his parents in years. They still haunted his thoughts, especially on bad days, but he tried not to speak of them or think of them if he could help it. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “My...my mom kicked me out when I was sixteen...and I never knew my dad…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, dear,” Tracy placed a hand over his. “I’m so sorry about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shrugged, thankful for his sunglasses again hiding the moisture forming there. But he knew his voice still gave him away. Funnily enough, with Tracy, he didn’t mind as much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“T-that’s ok. It was a really long time ago. Made it to college, met Beelz, they’re my family now,” he sniffled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy smiled at him and patted his hand. Aziraphale was heading back their way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Tracy stood up and began gathering the remnants of their picnic. “I guess we should be getting on our way!” she said brightly, and Crowley was very thankful for her covering for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>- - - -</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They continued driving for a little while longer, finally approaching a small town. Tracy asked him to slow down as they neared the right street. There was nervous excitement evident in all three of them as Crowley pulled the car over onto the side of the road and they all climbed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Aziraphale took a breath. “How do you want to go about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ring the doorbell?” Tracy shrugged, walking up to the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a look and followed behind her. Tracy hesitated for a moment, hand outstretched, then shook herself and knocked on the door. Crowley gave her an encouraging smile. Aziraphale’s hands were twisting in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if his wife answers and goes into a fit of jealous rage?” Aziraphale asked suddenly, looking fretful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh then I would be flattered!” She clapped her hands. “I’m more worried that he won’t remember me, darling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, then. Let’s just go home so this doesn’t end in tears,” Aziraphale placed a hand on her arm. Crowley gave him an exasperated look over Tracy’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, there’s no one in, we can just go,” Aziraphale tried again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll check around back,” Crowley offered, peering into a dark window as he started to walk around the side of the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s really no need,” Aziraphale called after him. “We made our best effort, no need to prolong the disappointment,” he smiled nervously between Crowley and Tracy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of a lock turning in the door jolted all three of their attentions back. An elderly man came out. Crowley’s breath caught. Could this really be it? Could this really be happening? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Si? Buongiorno?” The man looked curiously between them. He had on a woolen coat with a few pins on it that intrigued Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” Tracy managed to say, and then it looked like she was at a loss for words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man nodded, waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon,” Aziraphale spoke up, stepping forward to shake the man’s hand. “I’m Aziraphale, this is Madame Tracy, and, erm, Crowley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ciao,” the man nodded again, looking confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Crowley grinned, hopeful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m...I’m Tracy, do you remember?” Tracy asked nervously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tracy?” the man considered. He stared for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not him,” Tracy said, turning to Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not his eyes,” she sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Crowley felt his heart break for her. But after fifty years, the fact that she could remember his eyes so well, it made him even more sure that true love was real and worth pursuing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s make sure,” Aziraphale interjected. Crowley knew he was probably trying to be helpful, but he didn’t think now was the time. “Do you remember what you were doing in the summer of 1967?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man’s face lit up with some sort of memory but Crowley didn’t see the happiness he was expecting. “Yes! The summer of ‘67, I could never forget. I met the most beautiful girl with long red hair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale beamed at them, sure he was successful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We married that winter.” Aziraphale’s face dropped. “I curse that woman!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I curse her eyes, I curse her teeth, I curse her third nipple! Why would you ask me that? Why would you bring up such a horrible memory?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Tracy had a look of recognition on her face. “Third nipples...are you a Witchfinder Sergeant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley blinked at her. His grasp on the situation was loosening with every word that passed. He glanced at Aziraphale, who looked equally confused and like he was trying to find something to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I am, don’t you see my medals?” the man pointed at his chest. “Witchfinder Sergeant Pepper, at your service. My ex-wife was a witch, have you come about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was baffled but Tracy seemed to know what she was doing now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know Sergeant Shadwell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Old Shadwell? It’s been years since I’ve had any correspondence with him. But if you’re needing any help with witches, I’ll gladly be of service. There’s still a few of us scattered around these parts, ma’am. I’m sure you could find him though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know where he is?” she asked hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not exactly. I have a record of Witchfinder locations, but not with any names attached. For our safety, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. Would you mind sharing the list with us? It’s very important that I find him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man scrutinized them for a moment. “None of you have a third nipple, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale and Crowley glanced at each other, like they were hoping the other was following this conversation better than they were. They both shook their heads no, that they didn’t have an extra nipple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, of course not,” Tracy smiled flirtatiously at him. “Just the regular two!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” he sighed. “Wait just a moment.” He went back into his house and a minute later came back with a hastily drawn map with a few locations circled and starred on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good luck, ma’am. I hope you find him. He’s one of the best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy beamed at him, thanking him for the list. They said their goodbyes and headed back to the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. That went well,” Aziraphale said. Crowley could detect some sarcasm there. Though he didn’t like it in this context, he loved hearing it in his voice. “Can’t say that we didn’t try. I’m sorry though, truly. It’s best if we head back home to England now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you for real?” Crowley couldn’t help but snap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I knew what that question was supposed to mean, maybe I could answer it,” Aziraphale snapped back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley made a noise that wasn’t words. “You...He’s not the only Witchfinder in Tuscany!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, he’s the only one around here.” And hells he even was beautiful when he was angry. “And this is completely ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boys, please,” Tracy interrupted. “I haven’t flown all the way here to pack it in now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Tracy, what are you going to do?” Aziraphale pleaded. “Do you want to just start knocking on every door asking if a Witchfinder is in? I mean...let’s be realistic. This was a fun little jaunt but it’s time to go back home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy turned to Crowley. “Well, how many can there really be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley smiled triumphantly and they got back into the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trio drove to a little bed-and-breakfast down the way, Tracy and Crowley making plans to start their research and itinerary at breakfast. Aziraphale spent the car-ride looking defeated in the backseat. Crowley felt his heart tug at the dejected look on his face, but he couldn’t help but be confused. Why didn’t he believe in true love? Why was he so averse to this happening?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they bid their goodnights and went to their rooms, Crowley noticed a small parcel that had been slipped into his suitcase. The Secretaries had sent him notes of encouragement and a small stack of letters to work on, knowing he’d be missing answering them. He smiled, they were such true friends, and decided to answer a letter or two before bed. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Life is the Messy Bits</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The search for Witchfinders continues, and Aziraphale starts to come around.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next morning found Crowley, Tracy, and Aziraphale clustered at a little table on the patio of the bed-and-breakfast overlooking a relaxing looking pool and garden. Crowley, really digging into his research roots, had brought along his laptop and notebook, along with a large roadmap he got from the innkeeper. Translating Sergeant Pepper’s hastily scribbled map and notes onto the printed roadmap was a bit of an undertaking, but between the three of them they seemed to have gotten all of the locations marked down with a large dot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale leaned over the map to count the dots. “Seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four…” he mumbled to himself, sitting back as he finished his tally. “Seventy-four,” he looked around at them. “Seventy-four! Tracy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>seventy-four</span>
  </em>
  <span> Witchfinders! And you want to, to what, go on a scavenger hunt?! This is impossible, we really must leave in the morning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Aziraphale, calm down,” Tracy chided him. “It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>bad. Besides. Sergeant Pepper was pleasant enough, and it’s not like we were doing all that much back at home anyway. It’s a good vacation. Crowley, what do you think? Possible?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Crowley frowned down at the map, considering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m telling Gabriel,” Aziraphale pulled out his phone, causing Tracy to sigh exasperatedly at him. “And what do you mean ‘what does he think,’ he’s not thinking, obviously, this was his oh-so-clever idea to begin with, but it’s over, it’s done, that’s a ridiculous number to go through, it would take </span>
  <em>
    <span>months. </span>
  </em>
  <span>No one could be worth that, especially since you don’t even know if he’s even here or remembers you or-or anything! And look, Gabriel agrees with me,” he tried to show his phone to Tracy, his voice getting higher and more trembling as he ranted, betraying some emotions creeping through. Something about the ‘not worth it’ stuck in Crowley’s head. He wanted to figure out what exactly that meant, and to prove him wrong, but there were more pressing matters at hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy pushed the phone back at him without looking at the screen, other hand clasping at the necklace with her ring on it. She looked hopefully at Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen,” he sighed. “This is basically my job. Research. Tracking. Extrapolating data...I find things, ok? And I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>at it. And by process of elimination, and assembling a few more facts, I think we could narrow this down considerably, to a much more reasonable number. I think it’s definitely worth a try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale hesitated while Tracy perked up at Crowley’s thoughts. “Really? You think you can do that?” he asked hesitantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I’ve got multiple degrees from two different Ivy League schools. I’m head of my division at the New Yorker. If none of that convinces you, at least let me try and see what I can do with these numbers, ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked a little impressed, and Crowley couldn’t help but smile a little proudly at it, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. “Well if it...if it would help Tracy…” his phone buzzed under his hand, breaking his increasingly hopeful gaze. “No,” he shook himself. “No, this is madness, that’s what it is, it’s really-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale, darling, weren’t you saying just last night how much you were looking forward to that delectable looking breakfast buffet over there?” Tracy interrupted, pointing at an indeed delectable-looking breakfast buffet spread. “Those pastries on the end look like your favorites,” she smiled at him. “And our host just put them out so they’re nice and fresh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked conflicted, not wanting to surrender, but definitely tempted by the perfect looking pastries. “Well, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on, we’re working, go away,” Tracy tutted at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sighed. “It’s still madness,” he pushed back in his chair and stood up. “Completely ridiculous, it’ll take months.” He took a few steps backwards towards the breakfast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, dear. Now we’re working! Go!” Tracy waved at him, turning back towards the map. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe it,” Aziraphale sighed, defeated, and then made his way over to the large breakfast table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley laughed at Tracy’s handling of the situation, but got distracted by the brightening look on Aziraphale’s angelic face as he carefully stacked little pastries on his plate. He felt Tracy’s eyes on him and looked away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He means well,” she said softly. “It’s not really my place to say, but he’s been hurt before. And Gabriel certainly doesn’t help. It’s always been us three and Aziraphale became so fiercely protective of me when he grew up. I have a good feeling about this still. He’ll come around to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nodded, not wanting to pry, but keeping mental notes. He looked back down at the map. “Alright. Well. Are you sure that Shadwell wouldn’t have left this area?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy sighed happily, thinking back to her time with her Sergeant. “I’m quite certain. He loved it here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley considered the map again, looking at the scale. If only he had a-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up, seeing the necklace and ring clutched in Tracy’s hand. It would be perfect. “May I?” he asked, holding out his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She handed it to him, and he measured the chain against the scale on the bottom of the map. Sliding his pen into the ring, he put the length of the chain he had measured at the point where Tracy and Shadwell had met: their school, and used his pen-in-ring contraption to create a circle around that area. A little under half of the Witchfinders were inside of the circle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There,” Crowley said, handing the ring and necklace back. “That narrows it down. Our Witchfinders.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy laughed and kissed her ring, putting the necklace back around her neck. “Are you sure that you have time for all of this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley sighed, pulling out his phone. “Probably? But I’ll check with Beelz, I don’t know what they’re up to today.” He stepped away as the phone began to ring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Crowley, what’s up?” Beelz answered, speaking quickly. Crowley could hear some sort of bustle in the background. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, how are you? What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m at the most incredible wine auction right now, it’s just incredible, it’s beautiful. How’s it going?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m good, I’m in Sienna right now, actually,” Crowley began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sienna? What? Why are you in Sienna?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With Tracy and Aziraphale, remember? Writing a story? Research,” Crowley reminded them. “We’re kind of on a bit of an adventure looking for somebody that she used to know fifty years ago. And we thought it was going to be really difficult because there are so many of this group that he was a part of, but we were able to narrow it down, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes across the patio for a moment before he looked back down at his plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s so great,” Beelz interrupted, the noises in the background increasing; apparently the auction was heating up. “You know what, sorry, um, this really isn’t a good time, I’m in the middle of something, this auction you know, but look I’m glad you called, I was really just about to call you. The opportunities here are just really, really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> incredible, you know, and I think I’m going to have to stay until Friday, maybe Saturday. Can I stay? Or should I skip it? I mean, I feel horrible, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Crowley interrupted back. “No, do it, please. I’ll need til Friday as well. I know that’s important to you, and this is important to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” Beelz said hurriedly. Crowley could tell they were walking quickly back to the auction. “So Friday, alright? Friday’s good. Win-win. Ok. See you Friday. Bye. Oy! Wait! I bid!” Beelz yelled and hung up before Crowley could say anything back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, putting his phone back into his pocket. It was very Beelz. But he was glad to have more time with Tracy and Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tracy?” he called back to her. “I’m free.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cheered happily, clapping her hands together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Free? Free for what?” Aziraphale had sat back down at their table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s coming!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Aziraphale looked a little surprised. “He’s coming with us. Splendid. That’s wonderful. Fantastic.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley just smiled at the bits of sarcasm he picked up in Aziraphale’s tone, because underneath he could hear a little relief that Crowley would be coming along. </span>
</p><p><span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span></p><p>
  <span>Once they were packed and ready to go with their first destination in mind, the trio set off on their adventure: Crowley driving, Tracy in the front with the map navigating, and Aziraphale fretting in the backseat. They would often stop for photos, snacks, or bathroom breaks, and Crowley would make notes in his notebook, starting the love story he hoped to write with all of this when they got their happy ending. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy was so positive about all of it, smiling at everything along the way and shutting down Aziraphale’s worries with upbeat comments and hopes of her own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their first stop brought them to a little village. After wandering a bit they came across the address Sergeant Pepper had located. Two men sat outside playing chess. Crowley noticed that one of them had similar medals to the ones he had seen on Sergeant Pepper’s chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy approached and talked with the men for a while, Aziraphale and Crowley hanging back a bit. He turned out to be Sergeant Major Horace Narker, and not Sergeant Shadwell, but he did have some nice stories for Tracy from their earlier Witchfinder days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too bad I’m not the Witchfinder you’re looking for,” he said after finishing up his tale about the time he’d saved Shadwell from a possible witch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy just smiled at him in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t find him, you can always come back here, ok? I’ll cook for you. I can make you a nice fish dinner, do you like fish? Ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok,” Tracy laughed, shaking his hand and bidding her goodbyes to him and his friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good luck,” they both wished her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Tracy replied and Crowley could see the edges of her smile were not quite as high as they used to be. He glanced at Aziraphale, who was looking as worried as Crowley felt. Maybe this was going to be more complicated than they had hoped, but Crowley was sure it would have to work out. </span>
</p><p><span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span></p><p>
  <span>The Witchfinder of the next town wasn’t in when they arrived, but a man at the dock they had parked by said that he was on his way back on his speedboat and should be back in just a few minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>speedboat, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tracy, that’s exciting!” Crowley exclaimed and Tracy laughed with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The speedboat in question was approaching the dock. As it got closer, the happy expressions on all three of their faces began to drift into different forms of disbelief. The man driving the boat, the Witchfinder in question, was shirtless, in a tiny speedo, and had about a dozen similarly tiny-swimsuited younger women flocked around his captain’s chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale laughed suddenly, all of that and Tracy’s shocked look becoming too much for him. “Not him, surely?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god, no,” Tracy gasped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley lowered his sunglasses and his jaw dropped as every single one of the women gave the Witchfinder a large, open-mouthed kiss as they exited the boat. </span>
</p><p><span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span></p><p>
  <span>The trio slowly worked through the dots on the map, crossing them off as they went, deciding where to drive to next and which towns to stay the nights. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The countryside and mountains were so beautiful, and though it was not the primary purpose or destinations for his trip to Italy, Crowley was glad he was able to experience it. </span>
</p><p><span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span></p><p>
  <span>The next Witchfinder’s house they approached was not a house at all, it was one of the most fancy and elaborate mansions Crowley had ever seen. He maneuvered the car up the long and winding driveway past a carefully manicured lawn and immaculate topiaries lining the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” he said appreciatively. “Wouldn’t this be nice? From a poor student to this and you’d get to skip all the messy bits getting there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Life is the messy bits,” Tracy sighed happily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley loved that, he’d definitely have to include that in his book. His gaze met Aziraphale’s in the rearview mirror and Aziraphale smiled his small angelic smile back at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Witchfinder General Matthew Hopkins was the owner of the mansion, unfortunately, but he took Tracy on a lovely walk around the terrace. He gave all three of them some cold lemonade and let Crowley and Aziraphale wander the gardens while he and Tracy talked. They wandered in companionable silence, save for when Aziraphale happily pointed out a duck crossing the path ahead of them. Crowley felt his heart trying to leap out of his chest. He wanted to say something, to do something, but for all his skills and expertise as a writer he found he had no words yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they made their way back to the terrace he saw Hopkins give Tracy a white rose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry it wasn’t me,” he said softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Tracy replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would have never let you go,” he kissed her hand. “Believe me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley could see that Tracy was flattered, but that her smile wasn’t reaching her eyes anymore and that she was getting sadder as they kept finding the wrong men. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They said their goodbyes and headed back to the car. This had been their last stop for the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it with you and these Witchfinders?” Crowley asked, holding Tracy’s door open for her. “They all just fall right at your feet!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy just laughed and patted his hand before getting into her seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a shame, he seemed to really like you,” Aziraphale commented, taking one last look around. “And it’s just so nice here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? You believe in love at first sight now?” Crowley teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no! No, of course not,” Aziraphale denied but his flushed cheeks and averted gaze told Crowley something different. “Let’s not get carried away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley just grinned at him. “Sure, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sputtered, turning redder, as Tracy delightedly laughed at the pair of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They drove to another little town nearby and had a lovely dinner before retiring to their rooms for the night. Crowley wrote everything from the day into his notebook, making sure to keep track of all of the memorable moments. Smiling at his work when he finished, his thoughts drifted to Aziraphale and the smiles they had shared in the garden, the protectiveness of Tracy they both had now, and the fun bantering on the drives. If Crowley hadn’t been totally smitten already, he surely was hopelessly head-over-heels now.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. I Have A Good Feeling About This</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The search continues, we learn a little more about Aziraphale's reluctance, and Crowley's letter makes a reappearance</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After another unsuccessful day of Witchfinder-finding, the trio sat together around a lovely table of dinner and plentiful glasses of wine. Even though they were unsuccessful in their day’s work, the three of them still had high spirits. They had gotten a bit of a lead: a Witchfinder named Lieutenant Table had remembered seeing Sergeant Shadwell relatively recently and believed that he was probably nearby. He pointed out half a dozen marks on their map that he thought they should check next, exuberantly wishing Tracy luck, and shyly asking her to come back and have dinner with him if things didn’t work out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale, darling, why don’t you tell Crowley more about your bookshop?” Tracy said, finishing off her glass of wine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Aziraphale turned a little pink in the candlelight. “I don’t know if he’d be all that interested, I don’t actually sell all that many…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try me,” Crowley grinned at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Aziraphale began, “I mostly restore old books. First editions, you know. I don’t feel like you can really set a price on those, and it seems much safer to keep them with me. Where I know they’ll be looked after properly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re basically works of art when he’s done with them,” Tracy beamed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d love to see one someday,” Crowley said before he thought about the words coming out of his mouth. There was a pause in their conversation, a pause where the two of them looked at each other and it was like everyone and everything around them disappeared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy smiled a little smile to herself as she looked between them. “And your charity work, dear,” she prompted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale broke their gaze first, startled to come back into himself. “Oh, right, well, it’s more teaching really. Some students from local schools come by to study. I’ve been helping them with school projects, letting them use my books as resources that their school libraries don’t have. They come to me for advice too, but I don’t know how helpful I am with that. They’ve formed a little LGBT club amongst themselves, I suppose I am rather obvious, but they’ve told me that they feel safe in my bookshop, and I suppose I’m just as protective of them as I am of my books,” Aziraphale smiled down at the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s...that’s wonderful,” Crowley breathed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? You think so?” Aziraphale looked up at him so hopefully that Crowley found himself almost at a loss for words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, I wish I had something like that growing up,” he admitted. “And I can see it, avenger and protector of these kids,” Crowley smiled, trying to change the subject from his past. “It’s a little obvious now that I think about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was visibly flustered, glancing back and forth between Crowley and the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He does deal with facts, Aziraphale,” Tracy smiled. “Alright, well, I’m off to bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale stood and pulled her chair back for her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, darling, sleep well,” Tracy said to Crowley, patting his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I walk you to your room?” Aziraphale asked politely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I’m fine,” Tracy patted his cheek before turning to leave. “Be nice to each other!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley hid his smile behind his wine glass as Aziraphale sat back down. “She really is amazing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She is,” Aziraphale agreed. “Shall we...shall we order dessert?” He looked up at Crowley hopefully again, and Crowley knew he could not deny him anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dessert was tiramisu, of which Crowley ate one bite and let Aziraphale have the rest. Crowley had never in his life seen someone enjoy to this level of what was essentially just a slice of cake to him, and he had lived with Beelz and their restaurant ideas for years now. Aziraphale savored each bite like it was the best thing he had ever tasted, his eyes shutting and little sounds escaping him. Crowley’s throat felt dry. Oh, to be that fork. He was staring. He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked at him as he finished his last bite, cheeks coloring as he realized he was being watched. “Right. Well. Should we get to bed then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s mouth opened, thoughts going a million miles per hour and all over the place at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Aziraphale flushed even more. “I mean, I just,” he laughed once to himself. “Well, as much as I’d love to sit here and drink this whole bottle of Caparzo…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was still struggling. “Wh- d- ngk,” was what he managed at first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale just looked at him, as if he were trying to decipher that somehow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, go to bed. You should go to bed. Goodnight, Aziraphale.” Crowley was perhaps more proud of himself than he should be for stringing that phrase together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale stood, hesitating. “Right. Well...goodnight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight,” Crowley said again, eyes following Aziraphale as he turned to leave. He sighed, taking a sip of his wine. He told himself he needed to get it together. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Aziraphale pause in the doorway of the restaurant, then turn around back towards their table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgive me, where are my manners,” Aziraphale said as he approached. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” was all Crowley allowed himself to say this time. His mind was still a bumbling mess and with one successful sentence he doubted very much that he could manage another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps you bring out the worst in me,” Aziraphale said jokingly. “A bit funny, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley smiled at him. “So this is my fault?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All of this is your fault,” Aziraphale said nicely. “You wrote that letter that brought us here,” he sighed. “Nonetheless, may I walk you to your room?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s smile grew. “Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked together into the grassy courtyard, silently agreeing to take the long way around, across to where the rooms were. Their pace slowed as soon as they stepped onto the little path. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Aziraphale began, breaking the silence. “I’m not the buttoned-up killjoy you try to make me out to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never said that,” Crowley replied. “I’m not the one arguing that true love is bollocks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sighed. “Guilty.” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but Crowley didn’t push. “It’s just… I’m genuinely worried about her. I know that she seems carefree but her life hasn’t been all that simple or easy. Is it that unreasonable for me to worry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but I have a really good feeling about this. You’ll see,” Crowley said gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s hope you’re right,” Aziraphale sighed again. “I was not so lucky. In my own experience I mean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nodded, waiting for more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I was in love, once. Many years ago. But he found someone else. And another someone else. And I,” Aziraphale broke off and it looked like he was about to cry. Crowley felt his heart break for him. “Only...when things fell apart as they did, it’s hard to keep belief in things such as love at all,” he said sadly. “I thought it was everything, and then suddenly it wasn’t, and Tracy was the only one there for me, Gabriel just said I was being stupid, and…” he sighed again. They had reached the doorway. “Sorry, I’m being silly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley wanted to assure him that he wasn’t silly, that he had every right to every feeling he had ever had, he wanted to comfort him, he wanted to track down the man that had broken this angel’s heart in the first place and caused him to doubt something as beautiful as love. But Aziraphale had closed up as soon as they crossed the threshold, a sort-of fake-brightness coming back to him that made Crowley desperately long for the real happiness he had been seeing on Aziraphale’s face lately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not,” Crowley said quickly, trying not to break the spell. He let one hand touch Aziraphale’s shoulder as they reached his room. He was so warm under Crowley's fingertips. “You’re not silly.”   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s lips quirked up once, but it didn’t look like he fully believed him. “Thank you. Goodnight, Crowley,” he nodded at him before turning and heading down the hall to his own room.</span>
</p><p><span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span></p><p>
  <span>The next morning had them on a bit of a drive out to a more isolated mark on their map. Their plan was to return to the same inn that night, so they brought along another picnic for stops along the way. The drive was all countryside, with rolling hills of wheat and bales of hay dotting the fields. In the back of the car, Aziraphale studied the map, while Crowley tried to keep his eyes mostly on the road. He felt something had changed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy kept glancing between him and Aziraphale, giving more pointed looks at Aziraphale in the back, which Crowley caught once or twice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On a pleasant looking hill overlooking the rolling fields was their destination. It was a combination retirement and nursing home in a beautiful old house with sprawling grounds. A few families were visiting with their grandparents at picnic tables throughout the courtyards, and nurses helped elderly patients take walks through the lovely gardens. Aziraphale had gone to their reception desk to introduce the three of them and explain their situation, while Crowley and Tracy found a nice bench to wait at. Aziraphale joined them; a nurse would be with them shortly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Tracy?” one of the nurses called, leading a man with sunglasses out of a garden path. Tracy stood and approached them. Crowley could sense her nervousness. He and Aziraphale shared a hopeful glance, but both of them were also reflecting the anxieties in Tracy’s hesitance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” she said and he took her hand. “I’m Tracy do you...do you remember me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good evening,” the man replied, and Crowley frowned. It was barely noon yet. “Your beautiful face is... so familiar,” he said, taking off his sunglasses. But his gaze was confused, and he looked at his nurse for help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy smiled at him sadly, and glanced at Aziraphale and Crowley, shaking her head no to them. Aziraphale sighed in resignation and Crowley couldn’t help but echo the sentiment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a walk with him around the gardens anyway, and he was able to tell her some about Witchfinder History. The man’s name was Colonel Dalrymple, and he was much older than Tracy’s Sergeant. He remembered Shadwell though, and asked Tracy to bring him to visit, if they were able to find him. Tracy promised that she would. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They headed back to their car, an air of melancholy settling on all three of them, especially Tracy. Aziraphale and Crowley shared another look before climbing into the car. Crowley started the car and steered them back onto the winding country roads while Aziraphale crossed off their stop on the map. The afternoon sun was cheery, but the inside of the car was not. Tracy was uncharacteristically quiet in the front seat, spending most of her time looking wistfully out the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale checked the map again for their plans for tomorrow, and leaned up to the front, quietly confirming their route with Crowley. They shared another worried look. Crowley reached over, placing a hand on Tracy’s shoulder. “We’re not done yet,” he said softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy grasped his hand, coming back to herself. “Of course not, darling,” she finally smiled. But both Aziraphale and Crowley could tell that she didn’t feel it as much as she was pretending to. They met eyes in the mirror once more, sharing their concern and a silent wish that tomorrow would bring them more hope. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the inn, they all retired to their rooms early, no one feeling much like having conversations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley spent the rest of his evening typing up his notes, texting Beelz, and going through the stack of letters the Secretaries had packed for him. He had gone through about a third of them so far, and he thought now would be a good time to make some progress. It would cheer him up at least. Thumbing through the stack, he saw a familiar paper. His own letter was in the stack. Anathema must not have realized it was his. He sighed, a little embarrassed, and stuck it on the bottom of the stack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A waiter came to take his room service away, and Crowley paid him before turning back to the letters he had spread over his bed. As the waiter was leaving, he opened the door to find Aziraphale about to knock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hello,” Aziraphale smiled at him, stepping out of the way. He leaned back into the doorframe, knocking. “Hello, Crowley?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Crowley called, standing up and moving towards the door. “Is Tracy with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, she’s turned in early actually,” Aziraphale paused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was...I was going to ask if you wanted dinner but, um,” he gestured at the door where the waiter had exited.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I just wanted to get started on my story,” Crowley replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Aziraphale brightened a bit. “How’s it coming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s coming ok, not quite the happy ending I’m wanting yet, but we’ll see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I in it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may be,” Crowley drawled. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I read it? Just a little bit?” Aziraphale leaned towards his open laptop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding me? No! It’s not ready for that yet!” Crowley laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, just a little bit?” Aziraphale took a step closer to the computer and Crowley snapped it shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were standing so close together. Crowley’s heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale stared back into his eyes, and Crowley realized he hadn’t been wearing his sunglasses alone in his room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally breaking the gaze, Aziraphale’s eyes fell to the letters on Crowley’s bed. “What are those?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Letters. From the Secretaries. They thought I’d want to keep working on some.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Aziraphale said again. “Do you think maybe I could read a few? Maybe try to answer a couple? With you checking them first of course. I just...maybe I could understand this whole thing better then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley considered it for a moment. “You know what? Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good. I could use some help too, they gave me a lot.” He grabbed a small handful and held them out to Aziraphale, who took them with a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, well, goodnight then,” he smiled at Crowley and looked at the shut laptop once more. “You’re sure I can’t read any of it yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure, goodnight, Aziraphale,” Crowley laughed, walking him towards the door, Aziraphale stepping backwards with his eyes still on the laptop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...alright,” he said, glancing between Crowley and the computer, opening the door behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight,” Aziraphale echoed, stepping out the door, but stopping before the door could shut all the way. His gaze lingered on Crowley’s desk. “Is…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Aziraphale,” Crowley laughed again, shutting the door and shaking his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this one of those situations where you’re really saying the opposite of what you actually mean?” Aziraphale asked hopefully through the door. “You’re sure I can’t read it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you can’t read it yet!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Aziraphale replied. “Goodnight then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Angel,” Crowley smiled at the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...goodnight,” he heard once more. He shook his head again, unable to take the smile off of his face. He turned back to the letters on his bed, sorting through the stack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile dropped off of his face instantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His letter was gone. He must have given it to Aziraphale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well fuck.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Do You Believe in Destiny?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Crowley and Aziraphale explore Sienna.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next morning saw Crowley back on the patio for breakfast, sitting comfortably in the sun with his notebook and pens spread out in front of him, diligently writing more of their story. He tried not to dwell on Aziraphale having his letter much, he hadn’t signed it after all so he hoped he wasn’t too obvious in his writing. He’d have to get the letter back somehow, but he didn’t want to bring it up and be suspicious. Aziraphale was finally warming up to him, he didn’t want to ruin that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The angelic looking man in question approached his table with a complicated looking pastry that would no doubt have a double digit price tag if it was at a trendy bakery. “Good morning,” smiled Aziraphale, taking a seat across from Crowley. That smile really could do anything; it was already pleasant and warm and bright outside on the patio, but until that smile hit Crowley he hadn’t noticed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” Crowley echoed, looking behind him for Tracy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tracy wants to sleep in this morning,” Aziraphale explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is she ok?” Crowley asked, concerned. “Does she need anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, no she’s alright, she’s tough as boots that one, she just wanted a little break. Her mood has improved since yesterday thankfully,” Aziraphale sighed, relieved. “We’ve got a few Witchfinders all in a cluster not too far out on the list today, so she thought we could start this afternoon instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nodded. “Yeah that could work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So…” Aziraphale looked a little nervous. Crowley waited. “I was thinking that I might go see a bit of Sienna. Since we’re here,” he glanced at Crowley and then back at his half-eaten pastry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a good idea,” Crowley said slowly. He thought he knew where this was going, but he wanted Aziraphale to say it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose...I suppose you’d want to keep on writing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean…” Crowley shrugged at his notebook. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s an admirable trait,” Aziraphale smiled at him but it was a little more sad. “Always working.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood up and Crowley frowned, maybe this wasn’t going the way he was thinking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Of course,” Aziraphale took a step back. “Carry on then!” He smiled again before turning away, walking towards the patio steps. Clearly Crowley </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been thinking correctly that Aziraphale wanted him to come along, but apparently he wasn’t brave enough to ask. He’d have to do it himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey angel?” Crowley called after him, and the hopeful look on Aziraphale’s face was all he could ever want. “Since we’re here…” he shut his notebook and put it into his bag, smiling back at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They took the short drive into the city together, and spent the morning walking through the hilly streets and bridges, just taking their time and stopping wherever they felt like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley knew he had a tendency to ask too many questions, but he was curious and he couldn’t help himself. “I just wanted to say, what you’re doing for Tracy is really...it’s really sweet. I imagine you’d rather be spending your vacation somewhere else. Did you really volunteer your services, or did your brother, or did your parents? Where do they fit in in all of this? Tracy was your nanny, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was silent for a moment, and for that moment Crowley had a sudden drop in his heart that maybe he had gone too far. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I’d like to think they’re happy for us. Me and Gabriel. And Tracy too. But I haven’t heard from my parents in so long. I haven’t even seen them since I was ten years old. They’d send the yearly Christmas and Birthday card, and they always made sure we had what we needed, but they’re never around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Crowley said. “Hells. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale smiled his sad smile back at him. “I forgive you. You didn’t know. It was a difficult time, you know? Tracy really came through for us. She stepped up from being just our nanny to being our mother. Gabriel and I coped so differently with it too, it must have been hard for her. He was so angry all the time, and me, I was just sad. I’m not sure if I truly understood what was happening at that young.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gabriel’s older then, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five years between us,” Aziraphale nodded. “He blamed me a bit at first too, since our parents were around when it was just him. It’s still a thought in his mind, I know. Tracy spent years convincing me it wasn’t my fault. Everything has just...I’m not a big believer in happy endings anymore, I’m afraid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley wanted to help more than anything but he knew there was nothing he could do to change the past. He could only be there for the future moments. He wanted to let Aziraphale know somehow, but something about him kept leaving Crowley at an unfamiliar loss for words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clock towers rang as they turned the corner. “I wanted to ask you about the letters you let me borrow,” Aziraphale changed the subject. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve read all of them already, yes?” Crowley nodded. “Some of them...they’re heartbreaking. I just want to help them, you know? Some of them seem to have such an easy answer, and some of them I’d have no idea where to begin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Anathema and them...they’re really special. They have a gift at helping people who need it most.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was one that really stood out to me, and I’d like to get your opinion on it before I try to answer it…” Aziraphale looked over at him hopefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A young street performer approached them, pulling a coin out of a delighted Aziraphale’s ear. He tipped the boy, and asked to be shown more tricks as Crowley stood off to the side and smiled. There was something so special about Aziraphale that he’d never be able to forget, no matter how this all ended. When the boy had finally run out of tricks, with much heavier pockets than he started with, Aziraphale rejoined Crowley and they continued their walk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t your friend getting lonely without you?” Aziraphale asked as they entered a huge brick courtyard. “The one you came with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know…” Crowley sighed. “Beelz is having the time of their life right now. I doubt they’d even notice if I’m gone or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, it’s fine. I’m used to it,” Crowley interrupted. “What was, um...what was the letter you wanted to ask about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Right!” Aziraphale brightened. “There was this one, he...he experienced love at first sight. But I never really believed in that, you know, but the way he wrote it...it makes me almost believe it. I just want to help him, but he’s not sure if he’ll ever even see him again. He said ‘my heart aches without him and I don’t know what to do’ What can we do to help? How do we even answer that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s heart sank. It was his letter. He recognized it. And now he’d have to explain how to answer his own question, in an optimistic way so that Aziraphale could still believe. He was touched that his words had caused a spark of belief in Aziraphale, but the level of irony happening here made him want to melt into the bricks and disappear forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” he replied intelligently. “That one. Well. I would...I would encourage him to try to find his love again. Try to introduce himself. Try to see if there’s a connection. Try to get to know him.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Try to help his nanny find the love of her life and travel the Italian countryside with him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Crowley added in his mind. “If it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be,” Crowley tried to be encouraging, but his heart was frantically trying to beat out of his chest. It was a weak answer to a weak question, but he didn’t know. He was the one asking to begin with, if he knew the answer, why would he ask? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmmm,” Aziraphale pondered. “Wouldn’t it be romantic if the other person felt the same way? If they were both pining for each other? Then they finally meet again and they both know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley gaped at him a moment. Did he know? Did he understand? But Aziraphale’s wistful gaze wasn’t pointed. He was truly just wondering. “And here I thought you didn’t believe in love,” Crowley replied weakly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. I believe you’re starting to prove me wrong with all of this, not that I would ever admit it of course. And...and it would be nice, wouldn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley agreed. His heart couldn’t take much more of this. He stopped them for gelato, needing to give his poor heart a rest. With some gentle pestering, Aziraphale was able to convince him to hand over his notebook for a small section to be read. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, that’s enough,” Crowley said, holding his hand out for the notebook. Aziraphale was so deeply engrossed in the writing that his gelato was almost forgotten, melting away in his dish. “That’s enough,” Crowley said again, pulling at the notebook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley,” Aziraphale looked up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve read enough,” Crowley finally succeeded in taking his notebook back, and closed it and shoved it back into his bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your writing is really good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s really, really, really, good,” Aziraphale repeated. “Why don’t you show your work to anyone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never feel like it’s finished,” Crowley admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I’m a perfectionist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen,” Aziraphale leaned closer. “You have nothing to be afraid of. You’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>writer.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” And he said it with such depth, such emotion, that Crowley was completely drawn in. The tower bells rang again, breaking their trance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you… do you think we should get back to Tracy?” Crowley asked softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Aziraphale leaned back, voice going a bit softer too. “Many more Witchfinders.”</span>
</p><p><span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span></p><p>
  <span>The afternoon drive took them through fields of sunflowers and tiny villages along the roads. Another stop, another wrong Witchfinder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lazy looking man whose wife pleaded with Tracy to take him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A grocer that apologized that it wasn’t him, and gave them some snacks for their journey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A priest that Tracy was absolutely certain was wrong the moment they pulled up to the church.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A restaurant owner who was enamored with Tracy at first sight, repeating “wow” and blowing kisses at her accompanied by saucy winks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though none of these Witchfinders were the one Tracy was looking for, everyone was laughing and in better spirits. Every one of the Witchfinders seemed to fall in love with Tracy a little bit too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They drove back to their inn in the dark, Tracy retiring to bed after dinner but encouraging Aziraphale and Crowley to stay and finish their wine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This has been more like one of Shakespeare’s comedies than romances,” Crowley commented. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, better a comedy than to be Romeo,” Aziraphale laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You see, if I found the love of my life, if it really was as true as you and Tracy believe, I wouldn’t just stand there in the garden like an idiot, pining away. I’d grab Juliet from that blasted balcony and be done with it! Take her somewhere romantic. Confess my love to her. Well. To </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as it were. But anyway. You know what I mean.” Aziraphale took a sip of his wine, eyes flickering away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked at him, impressed. “Do you believe in destiny?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you?” Aziraphale asked carefully, holding his gaze again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I think so. I think it’s destiny that I’m here right now,” his voice was low in the crowded restaurant, but neither of them had ears or eyes for anyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With Tracy?” Aziraphale asked after a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Crowley backpedaled. “Of course with Tracy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked away again, and Crowley cursed himself. “...and with you,” he said so quietly he wasn’t sure if Aziraphale would hear it. But the angel’s eyes fell back on his own, and the answer was reflected in his soft gaze. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Aziraphale's Mistake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The next Witchfinder is found, and one of Aziraphale's greatest worries comes true. Arguments happen, truths are revealed, and Tracy knows comfort best.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I apologize in advance for the angst. Just know it will be fixed next chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next day started out very much the same: Crowley driving, Tracy riding along happily in the front seat, and Aziraphale with the map in the back, crossing off the Witchfinders as they went. There was a bit more of a drive this time, but Crowley didn’t mind. He was loving spending time behind the wheel, especially now that he could sneak glances at Aziraphale in the back, who he caught returning them just as often. Tracy didn’t say anything about their occasional smiles in the mirror, but she had a very knowing look on her face and Crowley found he really didn’t mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He parked the car in the small village they were meant to check, this Witchfinder’s address a little more difficult to find. They walked through a few streets, finally coming upon a little alleyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, this is the street,” Tracy said hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And there’s his number, this one here,” Aziraphale led them to the door marked with his address, and pointed at a Witchfinder medallion pinned next to the doorbell. He stepped back to let Tracy ring it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few moments, and no answer, Crowley stepped up and knocked on the door. There was still no answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was mid-morning, he could have been out somewhere. Crowley was just about to suggest they leave a note with their emails, maybe suggest a meeting time for tomorrow, when a young man on a scooter pulled up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me, are you looking for the Witchfinder?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Tracy smiled at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Come with me.” There was something about his tone that made Crowley uneasy; something wasn’t right here. The man on the scooter waited for them as they got back in their car and he led them back onto the main road, and then down a road they hadn’t driven yet. After a quarter hour or so of driving behind him, Crowley saw him signal that they should turn up a little gravel path going over a hill. Crowley turned, and the man with the scooter drove on without them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The path crested the hill, and in the field below was a small graveyard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley would have sworn that their car hesitated driving the final few meters, just as much as he did. The car was silent. The worry was thick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trio got out of the car. Tracy looked terrified, almost too afraid to go in. But Crowley could tell she was bracing herself, and she slowly walked forward through the stone archway. Aziraphale and Crowley followed behind. He heard Aziraphale praying beside him, and silently sent a prayer to whoever was listening that this would not be where everything would end. This couldn’t be it. Tracy deserved so much more. He felt his eyes prick as tears came to them, but willed them not to fall, not yet, not now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the graves looked decades old, but still very well maintained. There was one that was recent, it couldn’t have been more than a few days old, the dirt still freshly turned. Crowley’s heart sank. Being just a few days late would have been so much worse than a few decades. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was beginning to panic, Crowley could tell, but there wasn’t all that much he could do right now but wait and see what would happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy approached the grave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let out a cry of relief, tears still falling as the name Sergeant Milk Bottle came into view. It wasn’t him. Crowley let out a breath he had been holding, wiping away the one tear that had escaped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is what I had feared the most,” Aziraphale said in a hushed tone next to him, and Crowley could see that his panic and worry had turned back into his strong protectiveness of Tracy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not him,” Crowley said quietly, trying to calm him before what was starting to look like divine wrath finished coming over his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what if it had been,” he snapped. “The next one could be. He could be the same. Just three days too late, or years too late. Either way we’re finished. We’re done. This is too much. She can’t do this again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Crowley pleaded. “Not here, we can’t stop here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then where do we stop? The next hill, the next graveyard, after we search the whole country? When this becomes more than she can bear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! It ends here. We are done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are two more Witchfinders not far from here, maybe we can just check-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Aziraphale was more angry than Crowley had ever seen. He took a step back. “It’s not the ending that you want, is it? Well, this isn’t just some story with some clever ending, this is our lives. Her life. Tracy’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel, stop, it’s not about the story, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me that,” Aziraphale interrupted harshly. “She’s already lost the man once, how many more times would you have her lose him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was at a loss for words, the tears he had been holding off earlier came back in full force, slowly falling from behind his sunglasses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t expect you to understand,” Aziraphale said coldly. “I doubt you truly understand loss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked at him miserably. “Yeah,” he said weakly, not wanting to have to explain himself, not wanting to be there anymore, and walked back to the archway. He leaned against it, facing away, letting himself cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy approached Aziraphale carefully. “You’re wrong,” she said softly, putting a hand on his arm. Her touch was able to calm him so much so quickly. “Crowley’s parents threw him out when he was young.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked shocked, sad, embarrassed. “It’s...it’s different,” he mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Tracy said, pulling him into a hug. “You’re right. Your parents weren’t around, but they took care of you and you knew they loved you in their way. You had me. You’ve always known that I love you. And I know that you love me, and that Shadwell loved me. Crowley’s parents </span>
  <em>
    <span>chose </span>
  </em>
  <span>to get rid of him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car ride back was silent, save for the occasional sniffle, as the three occupants drove back to the inn and cried to themselves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley took a long shower, crying out all the tears he had in him, and then just standing in the stream of water until it ran too cold for his liking. He dried off, put on his pajamas, and sat at his desk. He had no energy to write. No energy to continue the story. It was always so much more to him than just writing it down. It was proof of true love, of undying love, and he had wanted so much to know that it was real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a knock on his door. “Come in,” he said hoarsely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy stepped in. Crowley was relieved to see her. “Hi,” she said, coming to sit on his bed as Crowley turned in his chair to face her. “Oh, my dear,” she said sadly, seeing the tear stains on his face, and his red-rimmed eyes finally without his sunglasses. “I just wanted to see if you were alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m...I’m ok,” Crowley lied, more tears beginning to form in his eyes. “Tracy, I’m so sorry if I caused you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she interrupted softly. “Every minute of this has been so special. And maybe today made me wish I had made this journey years ago, but I won’t let myself regret anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nodded, a few tears slipping down his cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, darling,” Tracy stood, wiping his tears and holding his face in her hands. She ran a hand through his damp hair, and his eyes fluttered shut. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him so gently. His mother certainly never did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I?” Tracy asked. Crowley opened his eyes and saw that she was holding his hairbrush. He nodded once. “One of the great joys in life is having one’s hair brushed,” she said quietly, brushing through the small tangles of the day in Crowley’s shoulder-length hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll not apologize on his behalf,” Tracy began. “But I am sorry for the things that were said. Tomorrow will be better. I have a good feeling about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s lips twitched upwards in a half-hearted smile. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ughhhh my heart hurts. I promise it will be all fixed next week &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Aziraphale's Apology</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale apologizes. Their adventure is almost over.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next morning was their second to last. Crowley was feeling bittersweet about their adventure coming to an end soon; he was still hopeful that they would find Tracy’s love in the next two days, but he was sad that it was all ending so soon. He’d really been having a good time and he knew that once he returned to New York his life would never be the same. He was more inspired, and with a stronger desire to actually write and not just do research and fact-checking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a breath as he approached the breakfast table, seeing Aziraphale and Tracy already seated there. As he neared, he heard Tracy reminding Aziraphale to apologize. His ashamed look let Crowley know that Tracy had given him a good talking to last night, probably also this morning, and she wasn’t about to let him forget it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look him in the eye,” Tracy mumbled at him when Crowley was within earshot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tracy, I know,” Aziraphale mumbled back and stood up from the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prove it,” she smiled at him, and it was a smile Crowley never wanted to be on the other end of. It was full of warning and the promise of threats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale cleared his throat and pulled out Crowley’s chair for him. Crowley gave him a half smile as he sat. Tracy looked between them, expectant, as Aziraphale sat back down next to him and looked him in the eye. Crowley felt captured by his gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley,” Aziraphale began. “I’m so sorry. Truly, sincerely sorry.” Crowley could see in his eyes that it was true, and though he still felt hurt from yesterday he didn’t blame Aziraphale, he didn’t know and he said things in the heat of the moment that he didn’t mean. Crowley nodded once and the look in Aziraphale’s eyes assured him that he’d want to talk more about this later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy beamed at them and ordered a round of mimosas for the table. “Crowley, I want to make a toast,” she said, handing him a champagne flute. He thanked her and waited for the toast. “I want to thank you for the wonderful thing you did for a complete stranger. I’ll never forget it,” she said sincerely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nor I,” Aziraphale added quietly, an intensity in his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve had the most incredible few days,” Crowley said truthfully. “You’ve changed my life. Both of you. I can’t thank you enough for letting me come along.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I think you did a lot more than just come along,” Tracy laughed lightly and raised her glass. “To our loved ones, wherever they may be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them clinked their glasses together, and Crowley couldn’t help but glance at Aziraphale, and felt his heart flutter when Aziraphale’s gaze was already on him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span> <span>-</span></p><p>
  <span>They met two more Witchfinders that morning and afternoon, both alive and well, but neither of them Sergeant Shadwell. They were both much too young, which made Tracy happy that Shadwell’s traditions were still being kept alive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, Crowley couldn’t sleep. He was still upset about this all coming to an end, and hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to Aziraphale in private at all today. He left his room quietly, so as not to disturb any other guests in the inn, and went out into the grassy courtyard. He took a walk around the perimeter and then sat in the grass on a gently sloping bank. He looked up at the stars, so vast and beautiful. He could so easily get lost in the night sky. It made him feel things he couldn’t describe with enough words, like hope, like love. He lay back in the soft grass, seeking out constellations he could remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later he heard quiet footsteps approaching his spot. “May I join you?” came Aziraphale’s tentative voice from beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Crowley replied, straightening a bit from his sprawl across the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sat and then after a moment also laid back to gaze up at the stars, much closer than Crowley was expecting. There were only a few inches in between them. His hand could so easily brush against Aziraphale’s leg, or Aziraphale’s own hand, if only he would relax and not clasp them over his waist. He glanced over at Aziraphale, just taking in his profile as this angelic looking being stared up at the stars in wonder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale finally looked over at him, and Crowley, suddenly nervous without his sunglasses, turned his head back to the sky. “In London there’s so much light, it’s hard to see the stars like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the same in New York,” Crowley said. “But when I was a kid, we lived further out from the city, and in the summertime I used to lay out under the stars and trace out constellations and pretend I had made them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale smiled at him, a soft little thing, and Crowley felt his own face returning the gesture. “I really am sorry, about yesterday,” Aziraphale began again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, ang- Aziraphale,” Crowley corrected himself. He never meant for the nickname to become such a thing but now it would be hard to stop. Aziraphale’s smile tinged a little sad at the corners, like he wanted to say something, but he just looked back at the sky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The letter, the one I was having trouble with,” Aziraphale mentioned and Crowley’s breath caught. “I think I understand it more now. Not the love at first sight, mind you,” he teased lightly. “But the...the uncertainty. The longing. The line ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>my heart aches without him and I don’t know what to do’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s so...profound. The feeling. Almost...ineffable. I never believed...oh, I’ve been such a fool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley paused for a moment. “‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move,’”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he quoted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love…’” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale finished quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley turned his head back towards Aziraphale. Aziraphale was already facing him, a look in his eyes Crowley had never seen before. There were mere inches between them. Crowley moved forward half the distance, hesitating, and Aziraphale leaned in, closing the gap between them. And their lips met. And Crowley’s heart soared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned on his side, moving closer, one hand cupping Aziraphale’s cheek and the other coming to rest on his hip. He felt Aziraphale answer in kind, arms wrapping around Crowley’s neck and shoulders. It felt so right, so wonderful, so perfect. If Crowley had ever been unsure before, now he knew for a fact, love was real and it was right here. He had never felt it so strongly before. They kissed, and they kissed, pulling each other as close as possible, kisses gaining in intensity. Crowley lost himself in Aziraphale’s lips and arms, never wanting to leave, never wanting to stop. He felt Aziraphale’s breath hitch and pulled back just enough to realize they had rolled over, Aziraphale on his back, Crowley straddling him there in the grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S-sorry,” Crowley tried to stop himself, but his lips had a mind of their own and kept kissing Aziraphale. “Too fast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale paused a moment, and Crowley moved his kisses down Aziraphale’s neck to let him answer. “...no,” he said finally, his grip on Crowley tightening. “May I...may I walk you back to your room?” he asked politely, and Crowley’s smile was evident in his kisses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please do,” he answered, managing to pull himself away and help Aziraphale to his feet. Hand in hand, they walked back to Crowley’s room, stopping for kisses against columns and corners and walls. Crowley fumbled with his key as Aziraphale’s hands began to wander a bit more bravely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if either of them had bothered to look up at the windows as they had made their way to Crowley’s room, they would have seen Tracy smiling down at them from her room. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. WFA Winery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>On the way back to Verona, the trio stops at a winery</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley ran into Aziraphale the next morning in the hallway between their rooms as they carried their suitcases out to the car. They exchanged bashful smiles and blushing good morning’s, Crowley held the door open for Aziraphale, Aziraphale rested a hand on his arm, there were a lot of feelings for Crowley to process. Last night was...well it was everything Crowley had been hoping for, for a long time, and he didn’t know what to say. It seemed Aziraphale was basically in the same boat, and so they kept up with their grinning at each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy came out to the car, and the moment she saw them Crowley noticed her knowing smile. “Good morning,” she trilled. “It’s such a beautiful day, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale agreed as he started to climb into his usual seat in the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Aziraphale, dear, would you mind sitting in the front? I want to stretch out my legs in the back,” Tracy smiled at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley frowned, knowing full well the back seat didn’t have much in the way of leg-room, but Aziraphale moved up front with a flushed glance at Crowley and he knew Tracy was scheming to make them sit together. She was so sneaky. He’d wished he’d gotten to see more of that side of her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The stars were just spectacular from my window last night,” she commented, giving the pair of them a sly look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They were,” Crowley agreed, with a significant look at Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They drove back towards Verona, the winding roads still some of the most beautiful things Crowley thought he’d ever see. In the back, Tracy kept humming obviously romantic songs, glancing between the two of them. Every time Crowley would look over at Aziraphale, he’d catch the man looking back away with a pink tinge to his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh look!” Tracy pointed at a sign announcing they were near WFA Winery. “That’s one of my favorite wines, let’s turn in there and have a little tour and goodbye toast, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They agreed, and Crowley turned into the gate. A huge winding gravel driveway led them up between thick trees, before opening up into hills and hills of grapes. Tracy stared wistfully out of the window, finally stopping the humming, and Crowley made sure not to drive too fast so that they could all get some good views of the beautiful vineyard. He’d been driving a little slower all day anyway, reluctant to get back to real life, as it were, and for this all to end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A gasp from Tracy broke him out of his thoughts. “Crowley! Stop the car!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slowed, pulling the car off to the side to stop. Tracy was opening the door before he’d even put it in park. She jumped out and froze, dumbstruck, grip tight on the door, as she stared at a young man walking through the rows of grapes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tracy? What is it?” Aziraphale asked as he got out of the car to join her. Crowley turned it off and also stepped out. The young man in the grapes seemed to be doing some sort of complicated pacing, an ill-fitting and very old looking coat draped on his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy turned to look back at them, mouth agape. “It’s him,” she mumbled in shock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale glanced at Crowley and stepped closer to her. “Who? That boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy nodded, looking as if she might cry. “That’s his coat, I’d know it anywhere, and the way he walked, and...and…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s face was one of concern. “Alright, Tracy,” he said softly. “Let’s get you back into the shade, Crowley can put the air conditioning on higher, ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley had an idea. He didn’t want to give it hope, but he had to try. He approached the young man. “Excuse me. Um, I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but have you...by any chance have you ever heard of the Witchfinder Army?” He tried to sound as confident as possible, knowing by now that most regular people had no idea what he was talking about when it came to the Witchfinders. They were all so odd and secretive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man perked up. “I have! I’m a Witchfinder! You could tell? Just by looking at me? I’ll have to tell my Sergeant, he’ll be so proud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale rushed over “You’re a Witchfinder? And your coat, is that-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It belonged to my great-grandfather, and then my Sergeant, and now it belongs to me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And your name?” Aziraphale asked hopefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pulsifer,” the man answered. “I’m Newt Pulsifer. I’m just a private, so technically, I’m not even supposed to get the coat yet. My great-grandfather is a Witchfinder Major though!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An ancient man rounded the corner, brandishing the most ridiculous gun-contraption that Crowley had ever seen. “Oi! Newt! Back to your paces, you know what the Sergeant ordered for your rounds this morning!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale and Crowley glanced at each other. This was it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Sergeant, Sergeant Shadwell, is he here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt looked at them curiously. “Yes, he’s just out riding the perimeters. What can we do for you? Are you having a witch problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s arm, too many and not enough words coming to him all at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, we’re being terribly rude. My name is Aziraphale, this is Crowley. We’ve...we’ve been on quite a journey looking for your commanding Sergeant. You see, Tracy, my friend, knows him, and...well…” he tried to wave Tracy over, but she didn’t move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley glanced back at her. She looked terrified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a moment,” he said to Newt and they went back to Tracy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale, let’s go,” Tracy whispered. “Let’s just go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tracy,” he beamed at her. “He’s here! Shadwell! He’s here, he’s just out riding, he’ll be back any moment!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let’s go before he comes back,” she said weakly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley touched her arm carefully. She was trembling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tracy, we’ve come all this way! And he’s here!” Aziraphale was almost too excited to see her nerves crashing over her, but his smile began to falter. “Come on,” he said more quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been ridiculous, Gabriel was right,” she said, voice monotonous and dazed. Crowley frowned again, he wanted to help her. “I’ve been completely ridiculous. He knew me when I was a young lady back in college, just a girl, she’s gone now, I’m old, I’m...I’m just…” her voice trailed off, but her eyes caught on an approaching horse. She froze, her mouth open. Her breath left in a rush. “Oh my god,” she whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man on the horse rounded the corner, caught sight of them, and also froze. Newt ran over to him and said something they couldn’t hear as he climbed off of the horse. Tracy grabbed Crowley and Aziraphale’s arms, one with each hand. Newt took the horse’s reins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shadwell stared at them, and began to take slow, careful steps in their direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy squeezed their arms, let out a nervous breath, and slowly began to approach him too. Crowley stepped closer to Aziraphale, anxiety and hope radiating off of all of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shadwell and Tracy met in the middle. “Tracy?” he asked, looking like he’d seen a ghost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand. Crowley covered it with his own, grasping tightly. Both of them held their breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracy nodded, tears forming in her eyes. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shadwell shook his head in wonder. “So many years…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Tracy said again. “Fifty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached out and touched her face. “You’re just as devilishly beautiful,” he said, pulling her into a hug as they both smiled through their tears. Aziraphale beamed at Crowley, his eyes welling up too. Crowley wiped a tear from his own cheek. They had found him. When they had finally stopped looking, they had found him. And love was real. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! I'm katherine1753 on tumblr/twitter<br/>New chapters once a week!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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